


Used to be Mine

by Fangirlingmanaged



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Breaking Up & Making Up, Civil War Fix-It, Discontinued for the time being., Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Happy Ending, Fix-It, Fluff and Angst, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, M/M, Multi, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Protective Rhodey, Protective T'Challa (Marvel), Tony Stark Feels, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, alcohol abuse in one chapter, child abuse in one chapter, non consensual touching in one chapter, not entirely clint barton friendly, not wanda maximoff friendly, please, please read the tags and author's note
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-28
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-02-21 21:42:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 79,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9485159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fangirlingmanaged/pseuds/Fangirlingmanaged
Summary: Tony can't even recognize himself nowadays.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 546
Kudos: 2477
Collections: The best written Stony fics out there





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a while.  
This song messed me up when I listened to it, and it immediately reminded me of Tony.  
Title, and occasional lyrics (in bold italics) are from Sara Bareilles "She Used to be Mine."

** _It's not simple to say, That most days I don't recognize me_ **

The mirrors in the penthouse have been covered for the past three months, and though he knows that perhaps he should check his appearance he can’t force himself to meet his own eyes. As he is thinking that perhaps it might be worth it, if only so that his PR agent doesn’t bitch at him, he curls and uncurls the fingers of his right hand. He’d lied to her, to Ross, to anyone who had asked, and told them that he’d had an accident down at the lab. That the cuts on his knuckles had come from banging out the Iron Man suit after his latest assignment. Nobody needs to know that as soon as he’d looked at his face in the last uncovered mirror he hadn’t been able to stand the asshole that stared back at him and had taken a page out of someone else’s book and punched the glass.

He’d banned anyone from coming to his penthouse since then, and avoided having to see what he was turning into when he was forced out of the solace of the tower. There was nobody to check on him, anyway, so avoidance had suddenly become a lot easier. He leans against the counter in his bathroom for a second longer, breathes a slow exhale and ghosts his fingers over the center of his chest before he tells himself to man up. _C’mon, Anthony_, the voice in his head that sounds suspiciously like his father grunts at him, _man up. Do your damned job. _

So that’s exactly what he does. Puts himself together, wills the excess of himself that keeps bursting at the seams, and gets out of the bathroom. Methodically, he picks up his watch and his wallet and makes his way to the garage. FRIDAY is mournfully silent as he goes, wishes him a quiet good luck that makes him close his eyes and wish for sarcasm and a British accent, and gets into his car. Nobody drives him anymore; Happy having left along with Pepper at Tony’s request. He avoids his eyes in the rearview mirror and revs out of the Tower’s garage.

After all, pardons don’t award themselves.

** _That place and its patrons, Have taken more than I gave them_ **

Ross, as always, is a piece of shit. Tony is so very glad that this might be the last meeting he will ever have to see the son of a bitch’s smarmy face. His pocket feels heavy where his phone, and all its secrets, rests. He fakes smiles and shakes the hands of every dirty politician he knows. He shares more genuine greetings with the few world leaders he actually is in good standing in, and humbles his expression with the ones he doesn’t. He sees King T’Challa across the room, and when their gazes meet Tony drops his own. They might have been working toward the same goal, aided by a redheaded shadow, but old habits die hard. And holding pain and anger in is a very old habit for him.

So he avoids T’Challa until the last possible second, but makes sure that he is cordial to him when they have to confer. He keeps the skepticism he feels about this meeting to himself, though he guesses the king knows. It’s all the same, Tony supposes, seeing as T’Challa thinks he can keep his guests from Tony in return. They exchange quick last minute instructions for each other, and then they are being escorted into the latest UN meetings about the accords.

Ross, as always, is sitting in a place of prominence. Where he can direct and control the way that the meetings, and by extension the faith of Tony’s friends, go. Tony’s hand goes to his pocket, where it curls around his phone, and he gives a predatory grin to the General. Underhanded and dirty has never been his style, he had always preferred to go for the direct approach, but he’s learned in the past few months since Ross came to him with the Accords. He can swim as well as any of the sharks now, and if there is anything that his father and godfather hand taught him, it was to be the best at everything you learned.

** _It's not easy to know, I'm not anything like I used be_**

The room is silent after T’Challa and Tony finish, for lack of a better word, dropping the bomb. It starts simply enough, with T’Challa voicing his concerns about certain aspects of the Accords, such as the measures that the governments would take if someone stepped out of line. Ross is quick to inform the King, somewhat condescendingly, that they would be subjected to fair trial. The grin the Wakandan King gives him in return is feral.

It’s all downhill from there. Similar to how things went with the team, Tony does nothing but watch the progression of things. T’Challa brings forth the arrest of the former Avengers and the, surprisingly enough, lack of fair trial. He brings forth the footage of the Raft and the conditions under which Wanda, unfortunately a legal adult though young nonetheless, was kept by Ross’s orders. The General turns back, furious, to seek Tony but all he does is stare defiantly back. Tony isn’t just buying the Avengers’ freedom here, after all.

“Mr. Stark?” T’Challa’s voice breaks him from his reverie.

Tony looks up at him, and is surprised to see something like concern in the younger man. He must be imagining things, he convinces himself, and raises to his feet. He can feel Ross’s dark glare on his back as he takes the podium. _This is for you, _Tony thinks as he begins his speech. He pulls up the pictures, the documents, the uncovered footage and glimpses of conversation. The final nail in the Accords coffin, thank God. _This is for you and thanks to you, Brucie-bear_.

He hopes that Bruce, wherever he is, will know that he’s hopefully finally getting it right. That, after everything that Tony has done wrong for him and the whole team, trusting him with this information about his past wasn’t a mistake. He hopes, perhaps vainly, that at least this is a bridge he can save.

** _It's not what I asked for, Sometimes life just slips in through a back door_ **

Life after that is… pandemonium, to put it bluntly. There are law suits and investigations and accusations and all sorts of legalese Tony can barely keep up with. Through everything, Rhodey proves to be a rock. After that first UN meeting, which is later on dubbed D-Day for Destruction Day, Rhodey makes it his mission to be with Tony at all times. His exoskeleton is working as well as it should, he says, and he’s made leaps and bounds with his therapy. He’s ready to kick ass, he convinces Tony who honestly didn’t fight it very much. He’s feeling the strain of it, every day, and had been wishing for some sort of respite from it all.

It seems like there’s someone watching out for it because it’s only been about two weeks after shit has hit the fan when Tasha shows up. Ross and Zemo are in custody, the Accords are on the process of being amended though both Tony and T’Challa are hopeful that they will be destroyed all together, and pardons are being written. He’s barely slept since the whole ordeal started and he knows his shaking is more than just nervousness, but he trudges on every day.

He’s barely eating.

He can’t sleep.

He’s gaunt and bony and overrun. Extremis is barely keeping up with the strain of it all, and he’s not making it simpler, but he can’t help it. Workaholic behavior seems to be engrained in his DNA the same way alcoholism was, apparently. He knows none of the others will be able to help him, give him any sort of respite, but at least it’s nice to know that there is more people with some experience dealing with bureaucratic bullshit.

They (Tony, Rhodey, Vision and T’Challa) are discussing the latest developments in the UN meetings they’ve been having to attend when she casually strolls into the communal living room of the facility. How she’d known where to find them, nobody asks. T’Challa gives her a warm smile, while Vision and Rhodey merely glance wearily at her. Rhodey more than the others seems a bit more hostile. Tony glances at her for a second, then looks back down at the papers in his hands. Suddenly what seems so urgent mere moments before becomes unimportant then.

“It’s late,” he finds himself saying to the others. He doesn’t acknowledge her presence. “I think we can file this away until tomorrow. That’s two down, so that leaves us four to go. Won’t be much longer now.”

Rhodey, bless him, doesn’t call him on his avoidance bullshit. Merely claps a hand on Tony’s shoulder and pulls him to his feet. “C’mon, man,” he says quietly. Tony gives him a grateful little twitch of his lips and follows him.

“Not now, Ms. Romanov,” he hears T’Challa’s quiet voice say behind him.

He closes his eyes for a moment as he lets Rhodey lead him to his room. He’ll pretend to go to sleep for a while, to appease his brother, then he can sneak out to the lab. He can work on the schematics for the exoskeleton for a bit before he attempts sleep. Or maybe he’ll decide to sack the whole thing and finally blow the suits to kingdom come. He can’t really decide which one would be more painful at this point.

** _And carves out a person, And makes you believe it's all true_ **

_“Mr. Stark! How does it feel being an Avenger again?!_

_Mr. Stark! Are you aware of Spider-Man’s identity?_

_Tony! Are the pardons just a way to sway the public?_

_Tony, would you say that you were wrong about the accords?!_

_Mr. Stark, will you be attending Ross’s trial?!_

_Mr. Stark! How do you respond to the accusations that you’d always known about General Ross’s crimes?!_

_Tony, what do you have to say about the accusations of war-mongering against you?!_

_Mr. Stark! Will you still go to trial for what happened in Sokovia?!_

_Mr. Stark! Since the Avengers have disbanded, will you be facing trial for what happened in Lagos and Germany?!_

_Mr. Stark! Can you ensure the safety of American citizens now that the Avengers team has been cut to less than half its size?!_

_Mr. Stark, would you say that the rift between you and the other Avengers was worth it?_

_Tony, was it worth it?_

_Was it?_

_Was_

_It _

_Worth _

_It?!”_

“Enough!” Rhodey’s loud voice in his ear pulls Tony out of the reverie. They’re still trying to push their way towards the Bentley Happy is currently waiting in. God, he should have tried to find a back door or something. His temples pound with the horrible migraine he’s been having since the beginning of that day.

He’d known, of course he had, that this final piece of his puzzle would call forth the most attention. Nobody had really batted an eye at the first set of pardons (Clint had been out of public eye enough and nobody really cared about Lang’s petty theft, and Sam was decorated serviceman,) the rest though. Stev—Cap, may have been America’s golden boy at one point but after New York and especially Leipzig, his reputation had been shot all to hell. The Maximoff girl and Barnes had been even worse.

But they’d done it, and he was damn proud of them for doing so. T’Challa shouldered his way past the reporters, and Rhodey shoved him none too gently towards the car. He could still hear them hollering, and all he wanted to do was curl up on himself for a minute and put his head between his knees. He just needed to find a way to _breathe_ for a second.

Once in the car, he leaned back against the seat and let out a gusty sigh. He tried to block the reporters out, but suddenly it seemed that they had begun to chant the same thing. He knew it was his mind playing tricks on him, but he still couldn’t help listening to it. it had been the same question he had been making himself since it all happened. It was the reason he couldn’t look himself in the eye anymore.

WAS IT WORTH IT?

** _And you're not what I asked for, If I'm honest I know I would give it all back_ **

“Mr. Stark?” the voice breaks when it says his name. It trembles, as if unsure on how to talk to Tony. He closes his eyes tightly for a second before hissing out a curse. His mouth is cottony-dry and there is an insistent pounding on his right temple. His stomach growls, though he feels the taste of bile in the back of his throat. Jesus.

“Mr. Stark?” again the same voice, though a little higher than before. The concern is clear, and Tony makes an effort to unstick his face from his worktable top. He realizes he’s in the same suit from the day before, though thankfully he’d shed the jacket and the tie somewhere along the way. The voice is starting to sound familiar, and though his brain is still sluggish, a part of him knows that he needs to get it together.

“Mmm, I hear you,” he mumbles and finally manages to push himself back. He’s immediately assaulted with a pair of puppy eyes. Brown and concerned in a face that can’t be older than sixteen, and a mop of wild chocolate curls. Tony blinks at the kid for a second, going from _why the fuck is there a child in a workshop_ to _aww shit, Pete, you’re not supposed to ever see me like this_. “Oh, hey, kid,” he finally says with false bravado.

Peter’s wide eyes move from Tony’s face to the empty bottle of rum to his right, and the engineer winces. Christ, he’s just as bad as Howard ever was. Why he thought playing house with Peter was ever a good idea, he doesn’t know. Though, looking at the lost kid in front of him, he knows exactly why he offered the Parker kid help. He should have known he’d fuck it up somehow, though.

“How’d you get in here?” he says, and subtly tries to move the kid’s attention from the alcoholic disaster that is his life. he stretches as much as he can in his stuffy shirt, and then slumps back into the chair as his body seems to give out. Jesus, he’s tired, and sleeping in the shop didn’t do his back any favors.

“Colonel Rhodes called me,” he says quietly. His eyes move around the room, and when they land on DUM-E, his whole face lights up. Tony watches him move towards the bot before seemingly remembering where he is, and most importantly who he’s with. He glances back guiltily at Tony. “He said maybe I should come for a visit.”

_He thinks you can fix me_, Tony says in his mind. He knows its not possible; there have been plenty of people who have tried. Pepper lasted the longest, but even she couldn’t stand all the baggage that came with loving Tony Stark. Not even the epitome of human perfection could apparently do that. He wants to throttle Rhodes a bit. Peter is a kid, someone who had already waded into too much of their shit to be dragged in again. Tony has already done the kid a disservice by making him and unofficial Avenger. Despite how desperate he had been, to bring the others in and prove to Ross and the UN that there were good super powered people out there, he never should have brought the kid. Sure, he was able to pick his battles, had already been doing it every day in his ridiculous pajamas, and Tony _knew_ he could never tell Peter what to do… it still had felt wrong. It had still made him keep an eye on the kid while they fought the Avengers, and wasn’t that just the kicker? He had never expected the others to actually fight them.

He grabs onto the edges of the table for a second as he remembers the avalanche of cars dropping over him. The scene too reminiscent of the Malibu house falling on top of him while the suit was down. Punctured and shutting down, and he couldn’t _breathe_, God, he couldn’t breathe and there was debris on top of him, and everything was dark and he couldn’t do anything…

“Tony!” he jumps back at the sound of the voice. all sharp edges and worry, and there at hands on his shoulders that are gripping him a little too tight, but that’s okay because that lets him concentrate on being grounded. Here, not under the water or cars or a fucking cave in Afghanistan. He’s there, in New York, in a building that no longer feels like home but where he at least knows nobody is currently actively trying to kill him. “You’re okay, Tony.” Peter looks infinitely worried for him, despite everything that he’s done _to _the kid, and it breaks a bit of Tony away.

He’d always known he’d be as much of a shitty parent as Howard.

Peter takes a step back and pulls a chair close to Tony. He doesn’t say anything, and he gives Tony the space to try to control himself. God, he’s so goddamn tired of fucking everything up. He should be the one to be strong. He should be the one to ask Peter how he’s doing; with spider-man, his biology club, his SAT preps, that asshole kid Flash, hell, even about Gwendolyn. He should be the one to man up and make sure that the kid is okay.

_C’mon, Anthony, Stark men are made of iron. _

“Hey,” he finds himself saying after moments of deliberation. “You wanna meet DUM-E?” he winces at how idiotic he sounds. He was supposed to be making this about Peter not himself. Of course, everyone always said that that’s all he’s always done.

He’s about to retract when he sees the giddy excitement on Peter’s face. It’s like someone told the kid all his projects would be funded for the rest of his life. Which, they are, but Tony hasn’t gotten around to telling him that quite yet. The kid nods his head, making him look like a bobble headed doll, and Tony finds himself smiling.

As he stands there, watching a clearly excited Peter give a preening DUM-E a fist bump in greeting, something warm settles in Tony’s chest. He’s still furious for calling the kid. Furious at himself for mixing him up in all their shit, but perhaps he can still manage to turn their relationship around. And, maybe, Peter will end up teaching Tony a thing or two.

Yeah, he thinks as Peter laughs while DUM-E tugs at the strings of his hoodie, maybe.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few things:   
1) this might be longer than I anticipated. This seems to happen every time i delve into Tony's emotional depth so bear with me.   
2) I have a lot of anger towards Clint Barton right now, okay. Like I love my son and everything, but he can be a right douche sometimes.   
3) I will probably never like Wanda because of what she did to my baby, but I understand her weariness of being back at the compound.   
4) I'm not comic book savvy but i do now that Ty Stone is generally depicted as "one of Tony's shitty exes" so he's gonna serve that purpose here.   
5) Ayyyyyyyyy Pepper+Happy   
6) If you don't like it or will start hating on Tony at any point I would like to point you to the exit and tell you to never revisit my work again because I've dealt with people trying to shit talk me before and i honestly have no patience for it anymore.

** _For a chance to start over and rewrite an ending or two, For the boy that I knew_ **

It isn’t until the revised Accords have to be singed that Tony begins to think that he might be just a little over his head. It isn’t the fact that he has to deal and schmooze politicians, or that Stark Legal is spearheading Zemo and Ross’s lawsuits, or the fact that the media is so flip-floppy with him that one day they love him and the next they want to burn him on a stake; he’s lived his whole life in those types of environments. No, the thing that makes his hands shake and his forehead break out in nervous sweat is a week before the final ratification of the document. He hadn’t counted on T’Challa throwing a curve ball at him.

“I think it should be you,” the king says as they face one another across the holographic table in Tony’s office at the New Avengers Compound.

“Sure, I’ll brave the sharks while you get them,” Tony responds distractedly. He’s going over the finer print one last time, obsessively if Natasha is to be believed, so that there are no objections of any kind from the other side. _His side_, though Tony refuses to acknowledge that’s why he’s doing it. He breathes a little easier with every restriction that is no longer there, and every freedom that he couldn’t even have conceived, but someone with at least one shred of dignity in the UN has allowed to be written down.

“No, Anthony,” T’Challa’s voice is suddenly sharp. It’s enough to get Tony, Tasha and Rhodey to stop pouring over the documents and videos and speeches and to look at him. The king’s face is pure determination, and Tony is suddenly concerned. He thought they had done well enough to pacify everybody.

“You… don’t want me to give a statement?” Tony asks uncertainly. He glances over to both his side, but Rhodey is looking just as confused as he feels and Natasha’s face is completely blank as she stares at the man on the other side.

“You may do as you wish in that matter, but that is not what I meant. The Accords, the pardons, all of it… it should be you who tells them,” Tony opens his mouth to immediately argue against that assessment. Nothing, and he means _nothing_, he says will be trusted. T’Challa has been housing them and keep them safe, for God’s sake, you don’t bite the hand that feeds you.

_Except they did_, the bitter part of Tony’s brain snidely suggests. Tony snarls at it to shut up, and closes his eyes tightly. God, he had been doing so well without the headaches lately. This is exactly why he tends to avoid these types of conversations. Why, in interviews, he steers the talk away from his… acquaintances and redirects it to the good they’re doing with the new heroes. For those who were willing to sign the original accords, and those who didn’t buy the bureaucratic bullshit. The rebuilding of the cities they destroyed. The grants and scholarships and awards and all the shit he’s set in motion to try to _atone_. This, though, this is something that’s better left alone. Some bridges just can’t be rebuilt.

“I think he’s right,” Natasha says to break the silence. She doesn’t look at Tony as she says it, though he glares in her direction, but instead continues to stare at T’Challa. It’s like they’re having a conversation that the other two occupants in the room are not privy too, and seriously, when the hell did that happen?

“I think it’s bullshit,” Rhodey says, and Tony can hear the barely controlled fury in his tone. A corner of his mouth ticks up at the surge of protectiveness from his brother. Though it’s tinge with guilt and bitterness as a hand goes down and fists at the Colonel’s thigh.

“Rhodes,” Tasha says quietly.

“He doesn’t owe them shit,” Rhodey continues just as furiously.

Tony takes in a quick breath as images of a glinting arm, ripped off a soldier, and blood stained navy armor flashes through his mind. a bloody mouth and the beginnings of a bruise around a clear-blue eye. Angry words and even angrier tears. The clang of a shield on concrete. He brings his trembling hands down to rest under the table. Tasha gives him a concerned look, but he ignores it and stares at T’Challa. He doesn’t understand why he’s bringing this up now. They all know where they stand. The new heroes might still get to choose, but _they_ picked sides a long time ago.

“He doesn’t,” the king agrees with an inclination of his head. It takes the wind right off Rhodey’s sails in surprise. Tony must look just as confused because T’Challa turns his attention back to him. “You don’t have to, Anthony, it is more than understandable why you might not want to. You wish for them to have their freedom, their… happiness, do you not? And you think their knowledge of their involvement will somehow taint that. That they will feel as though—“

“They owe me something, which they don’t,” Tony finishes for him, subdued. It’s something that he’s been doing lately. He doesn’t know if, hey, maturity or it’s just the latest representation of how tired he actually is. 

“That’s a lot of—“

“Rhodes, I think its time for your walk,” Natasha tells Rhodey, which just serves to spark his anger more. Saying he isn’t a _dog_ that needs to be _walked_ when he gets angsty. Tasha merely rolls her eyes and grabs his arm. He goes up without much more than a grunt, though once he’s on his feet he begins his tirade again; T’Challa and Tony look on with faint amusement at the moment as Rhodey tries to tug his arm away and _Christ woman, I’m going, I’m going what are you a drill sergeant… _all the way until the doors slide shut behind them.

“He’s right, you know,” the king tells tony once there is quiet in the room again. The mechanic turns his eyes back to T’Challa but doesn’t say anything. “They owe you their freedom. Hell, they might even owe you their life.”

“I tore our family apart,” Tony hisses at him, and he can’t help but grasp at the edge of the table. The force of his grip hurts his palm, but he doesn’t care. He holds the king’s gaze, he’s never been one to back out of a fight, and tries to control his erratic breathing. “If it weren’t for me they never would have been targeted. They never would have gone to prison. This… this _war_ as they’re calling it would never had happened. If only I had listened—“

“That’s not true, and you know it, Anthony,” T’Challa interjects quietly. The way he says it, irrationally, reminds Tony of Edwin Jarvis and he bites his tongue. “You and I both know that if none of you had signed it would have been infinitely worse for you all. Ross was out for blood; yours or theirs it wouldn’t have mattered. In lieu of Doctor Banner, any of his team would have sufficed. You, Mr. Stark, have a wonderful mind; the genius title, as you have often reminded the public, was not self-awarded. You saw through the good public servant persona of the General, and identified the threat within. You did what you thought was best, what you thought would damage the least amount of people. You tried to save them—“

“And look where it got them!” Tony bursts out. His chest is heaving and there’s sweat running down his back. “They were forced away from their homes, separated from their loved ones; everything they had built was torn to shreds because of what I did. Yes, I saw what Ross was trying to do. I thought I could do some good. I thought I could work things from within; changed the course they were creating so that not only would we continue doing what we could to save this chunk of rock, but I could continue keeping them protected. God, I should have known. Every time I try to do something that will keep them safe, I end up putting their lives at risk. This… T’Challa, _this_” he raises the documents to the king, “might be the only thing that has even gone right. That’s thanks to you, and Tasha, and Rhodey and even Viz. it’s gone right because of you. That’s all they need to know.” He gets to his feet, suddenly exhausted with the whole thing, and makes his way to the door.

“You said you saw what Ross and the whole lot of them wanted to do,” T’Challa says quietly. Tony gives himself a second to close his eyes and try to regroup before he turns back to the other man. When their eyes meet, Tony sees something akin do sympathy in the other man’s eyes, and he knows he doesn’t deserve it. “The progress we have made… it should have taken far longer than this. It should have been months, perhaps even years, before the tide of opinion turned against from Ross and his followers. That, Anthony, was all on you. You began to work on these revisions long before anyone knew of the threat they posed.”

“We have compelling evidence, now. We have enough to make the case moot, and the Stark Foundation is getting more donors. Plus, the information that Bruce had saved for me was damning enough. That had nothing to do with me.”

“You… are determined to cast yourself as the villain all the time, aren’t you? You have done good work here, Anthony,” T’Challa says forcefully, trying to meet his eyes.

“Together,” Tony tells him quietly. He stares off at the side where the Avengers logo is on the wall. “That’s what he said. That we had to it together or we would destroy each other. And what was the first thing I did? I went against that. He… they… I almost killed him, in Siberia. I was so angry, so hurt, that I didn’t care. I wanted him dead so that Mama… I was wrong, to do that.”

“He was wrong to lie to you,” T’Challa says seriously. Tony rears back in surprise; it’s the first time anyone has said that out loud. He doesn’t even know how the king knows about that. “He hid the truth from you for years, Anthony. He had no right. You should not blame each other, but if you must then it does not rest solely on you. And before you begin anew on the wrongdoings of your team,” he says as Tony opens his mouth to argue. “You must remember that I prepared for that battle by your side. I may not have agreed on bringing the young Spider boy with us, but I knew what you thought. I know what you expected; and that… violence, was not it.”

“I betrayed them. I was sworn to protect them, and at the first difficulty I broke their trust. I built that prison. I may not have physically brought them in, but I may as well have put the restraints on them. The least I could do is try to give them their lives back. Let it go, T’Challa,” Tony says, and his voice break. It might be the only reason why the king does though he still looks upset. “They’d be the first to tell you that I mean next to nothing to them now. I mean, Clint has already said it to my face.”

“They’ll know eventually,” T’Challa tells his retreating back.

Tony swallows the lump in his throat with some difficulty. “Then I’ll deal with it then. They deserve at least a while before I soil that happiness too,” he tells the hallway. He thinks he could do with a few aspirin and sometime banging out things in the workshop. “It’s not as if I’ve never done that before,” he tells himself as he walk away.

** _Who'll be reckless, just enough, Who'll get hurt, but who learns how to toughen up._ **

Tony is still at the compound a few weeks later, under pain of death from Natasha, when T’Challa brings the entourage. Tony is fiddling with his phone in the conference room, which should have been an obviously bad choice seeing as the last time they were all there Ross had been threatening them with the accords. Natasha is standing behind him with a hand on his shoulder. Rhodey is at therapy at the moment or so he’d said though he’s probably more likely calling his mother and updating her on Tony’s progress. That woman is terrifying, and partly the reason why he doesn’t seem to be able to let go of the phone.

Viz has stationed himself at the door, and Tasha gives Tony an amused glance that lets him know he’s not the only one that has noticed the android’s attention. His smile quickly falls when he hears the others making their way towards them. T’Challa’s soothing voice seems to put him at ease a bit, but he still got quickly to his feet.

Tony barely sees Sam come into the room, his easy smile quickly falling from his face, before there’s a fist connecting with his jaw. His head snaps to the side, and he can feel the sting of tears in his eyes. He thanks whatever deity is looking out for him, _Thor he knows it’s you buddy,_ that his face is no longer tender.

“Barton!” Natasha hisses while cradling Tony’s arm to keep him upright.

“What the fuck is he doing here? You said we were safe here,” Clint bites out. Sam has an arm around him, now, and the rest of them have made their way in.

“And you are. I would not jeopardize your safety if he weren’t here on good will,” T’Challa says. His tone has a soft note of reprimand.

“You’d have to forgive us, your majesty, but we didn’t exactly part as friends,” Sam tells the king. He’s still got an arm around the archer, but he doesn’t seem to be making much effort to restrain him. Tony guesses it was more so that he wouldn’t arrest Barton for assault or whatever.

Tony’s eyes meet T’Challa and the sadness in the other man’s eyes, though well hidden, tell him enough to know that he understands what the engineer is trying to tell him. _You all should have done this without me. _

“And I gave you my word that you would be protected. I do not take my promises lightly, Sam,” T’Challa’s tone brooks no argument. Sam gives a slight nod, though he still stares at Tony suspiciously.

“So we’re back to this, then?” Wanda’s voice makes Tony stiffen. She’s glaring at him, and the sparks in her fingers are not comforting. The sight of them brings forth memories of empty HYDRA bases, and _there are no strings on me_, and an avalanche of metal, and Tony’s tie suddenly feels too constricting. He rips his arm away from Tasha, drawing too much attention himself, and Wanda pins him with her hostile gaze. “Fancy prisons?”

“As we have discussed, Ms. Maximoff,” and this time the king seems to be biting off his words this time. “Your pardons are unconditional. This was merely your last place of residence so we thought it best to bring you back to the last place that was your home. You may choose to do as you please from this point forward.”

“Tones,” Rhodey’s voice comes from behind the team. He’s standing at parade rest, something he hasn’t done around these people in a long time, but the tension in his frame is visible. As is the angry glare he gives the room at large. “I think it’s time for us to go. Mom is on the phone.”

“Right,” Tony says quietly. He gives one last apprehensive glance at Wanda’s fingers, and accepts a squeeze from Tasha before he makes his way to the exit. “I told you,” he can’t help but tell T’Challa as he leaves. The king gives him a resigned look.

It isn’t until he’s about to leave the room that he notices Steve. He’s in one of his signature tight shirts, and those ridiculous old man pants; he’s standing similarly to Rhodey. His hair is a little longer than usual, and there’s a bit of stubble on his chin. He’s staring impassively at the scene in front of him, though the tension on his frame is clear.

When he opens his mouth as if to say something, Tony finishes his thought, “it shouldn’t have been me.”

** _When he's bruised and gets used by a man who can't love, And then he'll get stuck_ **

Tony spins aimlessly in his chair down at the lab, and wonders what the fuck he thinks he’s doing. There’s a prosthetic metallic arm in front of him, and the schematics for neuro-sensors and connection and psychoanalytical theories that my not even work. There’s a tactile model of a brain to his right where he’s been doing some research. Highlighted parts of it indicate the places where a neurosurgeon, an old acquaintance of Helen Cho, has given some of his insight.

He doesn’t know what he’s doing with all of it, though, seeing as he knows it won’t be accepted. T’Challa had gone back to Wakanda the day before, and had promised to return with one brainwashed super assassin. If he’s honest, Tony never would have thought that Ste—_Rogers_ would return without his juiced up super boyfriend. Well, the more he knew, he supposes.

And God, that is not something that he wants to think about at the moment. He has enough useless shit to occupy his time these days. He swipes his hand carelessly to the side to dump the files back on their databases and turns his attention back to the arm. He loses himself in metal and circuitry for a good while there until FRIDAY’s voice pulls him out of his zone. His ear-splitting music gets cut off, and then he can hear his girl’s disapproval loud and clear.

“Boss, you’ve been here for over nine hours without proper nutrition,” his youngest says. Tony rolls his eyes, but can’t help the smile that takes over his face. Though she is no JARVIS, she still manages to put just the right amount of fond exasperation to her voice. “Papa Bear,” Tony snorts at the name, “insists that you make your way to the kitchen so that he can, and I quote, put some meat on your old brittle bones.”

“He’s like six years older than me, I swear,” Tony says with a chuckle. “Tell him I’m busy.” _And I don’t fancy running into any star spangled hypocrites, _but that’s neither here nor there. He pushes his welding mask back down.

“He’s threatened to call Momma Rhodes, boss,” FRIDAY says, and there’s a definite note of smugness in her voice. before Tony can object, she continues and there is definite amusement there, “he’s begun dialing, boss.”

“All right! I’m going!” he says crossly, but he can’t be too mad. Especially when his stomach rumbles in complaint to its emptiness.

** _And be scared of the life that's inside him, Growing stronger each day 'til it finally reminds him_ **

“—hoooooly crap! It’s you, jeez, is this real life? is this _my _life when did this become my life? Colonel Rhodes, you’re seeing him too, right?!” Tony can discern the voice even before he hits the kitchen. The kid rambles almost as much as he used to when he was that age, and it immediately puts a smile on Tony’s face. Rhodey and his dastardly plans that always seem to work. The man knows Tony won’t stick around long unless there is a reason for him to do so.

“I’d watch your language, if I were you, Pete,” Rhodey’s voice holds a trace of amusement. Tony enters the kitchen, about to make fun of his hypocritical brother, when he sees the other occupant in the room and Rhodes finishes his thought. “Cap has a thing for language.”

“Is nobody going to let that go?” there is a grin on the blond man’s face as he says it, though, betraying his fake exasperation. Peter is standing at the island by his side, looking at him with his big bambi eyes, and Rhodey is sitting on the other side with a plate of pasta in front of him and the other by his side.

“You said during it a mission, with a group of people who can swear in five different languages in between them, and you expect us to let it go?” Rhodey snorts.

“You weren’t even there!” Cap complains with a laugh.

“I sense a story there,” Peter says in a clear way to roundabout ask to be included on the joke.

** _To fight just a little, to bring back the fire in his eyes_ **

“Nine,” Tony finds himself saying. He doesn’t know if it’s because it’s the polite thing to do, or because there’s a tightness in his chest at feeling excluded or because there’s this sort of hero worshipping in Peter’s eyes that was supposed to be _his_, the only thing that he actually had at this point really, but the words seem to be ripped out of his throat. The occupants in the room turn to look at him, and Tony suddenly becomes aware of just how rumpled he must look. “There’s… nine, languages, between us. I think.” He finishes lamely.

There’s a bit of awkward silence in the room, and then Peter makes a thoughtful noise. “I mean, I suppose Asgardians might have a language of their own.”

Tony smiles at the kid, thankful for the in he has just given him, and makes his way to Rhodey’s side. He senses Steve’s eyes on him, but he ignores him in favor of the food that is clearly laid out for him. In the three weeks that they have been back, Tony had successfully managed to avoid seeing any of the others. After the hostility of that first day he figured it was best to clear his, clearly unwelcomed, presence away from them. He would have booked it back to the Tower if it weren’t for the fact that, for one, Pepper is currently there with Happy and that is another type of pain he is not willing to revisit at the moment. For another, Natasha had threatened bodily harm if he didn’t stick around to at least try to slap a band-aid on the mess they had of a team. Tony flexes his jaw at the phantom pain, and wonders if it’s really worth it.

There is forced conversation after that; clearly it is all for his benefit. Rhodey asks Peter about his and his biology club. Peter, in turn, asks about how the exoskeleton Tony build has been working out for him. The air tenses at that, and Tony can sense without looking that this is something Steve is actually interested in. From what he’s heard from Rhodey, Sam has been unable to face him up until now, and the vindictive part of Tony is sadistically happy at that. Though the sane part, the one that is thankfully been in control since that day in Siberia, _don’t think about it_, knows that it wasn’t the other pilot’s choice. He also knows that Rhodey is planning on ambushing him soon enough so that they can talk about it.

When the topic diverts to Peter’s schooling for the third time in as many minutes, Tony decides that he’s had enough. They were clearly having a good time before he came and intruded, and he knows Peter’s mind. He knows there are probably millions of questions that he wants to ask the blond, his _hero_, and that he doesn’t feel as though he should at the moment. Tony isn’t as much of an asshole to prevent him from getting to know the other man.

“I think I’ll finish this in the lab,” he tells Rhodey quietly as he grabs his plate. It once again brings the conversation to a halt, and he hates it. he hates that they can’t have a normal day without him fucking it up. God.

“Tones,” Rhodey says in that tone of voice that means he’s about to go on a lecture.

“It’s fine,” he says quietly. He really doesn’t mind. Seeing Peter this excited about anything always makes him feel like he’s doing something right. So what if it’s usually when Tony introduces him to something new, or gives him new doodads, or helps him _create _new doodads, or when he’s having a fun time with one of Tony’s bots… so what if it used to be about him, for a while, and now it’s not. At least Peter is happy, and Tony is not selfish enough to begrudge him that. He has, at least, not lowered to that level of Howard’s neglect yet. “I’ll eat it, I swear.”

“Tony,” that goddamn voice. How can it still sound the same even after all these months? How can it have the same effect it did back then? Shouldn’t something be different, broken, destroyed beyond repair? “Don’t go.”

And maybe it is, maybe something _has _been broken, because the ache in his ribs can’t be normal. The pressure as though the reactor, _broken casing and shattered glass oh God, _was still imbedded in his chest. Maybe the voice is still the same, and the impact is the same, but the aftermath is infinitely different now. He wills his fingers to stop trembling where they grip the plate with his left over food and the cup with the coffee Rhodey had given him. He sees Steve’s angry eyes on them, though, and knows he’s failed at that too.

“We were going to make doodads,” Peter’s voice sounds sad. Tony wants to believe that the kid does mind, but really, who would he be kidding with that? There’s no contest between the mass murderer and America’s hero. Tony isn’t masochistic enough to put that into consideration.

“We’ll have time to finish them later, Spiderling,” he says with an easy smirk. Rhodey frowns at him, but Tony can’t seem to care. Steve’s surprise shows in his face as he stares at the kid, and the boy blushes. There, they should have something to talk about now that Steve isn’t concerned about speaking of important matters in front of a civilian. “I bet you have plenty of questions for Cap over here, and I bet he’d love to tell you those stories. You can drop by later if you have time.”

“I promised Dummy I’d come by,” the kid says as though he’s on a mission to break Tony’s complete heart at once.

“He’ll be fine, I’ll keep him company,” Tony responds easily. He just wants to get the hell away from the emotional rollercoaster he seems to be in. the workshop is safe; his work protects him. He’ll be fine once he can lose himself in coding, and metal, and grease.

“But—“

“Tony, really, I—“

“I’m fine,” and maybe it’s more forceful than he meant it because the kitchen falls silent. Rhodey is on his feet, and Steve makes a move as if he’s about to do the same. Tony moves swiftly to the door and calls out a hasty goodbye before they can continue. God. He just wants some peace. Is that so much to ask? He’s just wanted some peace for months, maybe even years, but it doesn’t seem to be attainable for him.

_There’s no rest for the wicked, right, babe? _Blond hair and steely grey eyes swim in his field of vision. Christ, he’s all over the place today. Stone hasn’t made an appearance in a while

The memory of Peter’s sad Bambi eyes will haunt him, he knows, and he hopes that the kid doesn’t feel like he’s pawning him off to someone else. _He’s not howard, he’s not howard, he’s not he’s not._ Because it’s not like that. It kills Tony to lose him to someone else, but he’s better off this way. He’s better off hero worshipping someone like Steve and not a man with the moniker of Merchant of Death following him wherever he goes.

_I'm fine. I'm fine. i'm fine. _Maybe if he says it enough it will start to ring true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I shall try to post again on Friday though I don't promise anything.   
Hope y'all enjoyed.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)   
Also take note that I haven't spell-checked this because I'm impatient lol

** _He’s imperfect, but he tries, he is good, but he lies_ **

“Are they back?”

“Yeah,” Tony sighs over the phone. He’s back at his lab, listlessly poking at the sandwich that was left over from Peter’s visit. Butterfingers beeps at you chidingly, clearly reminding him that he had promised their baby genius that he would eat even if he wasn’t supervised. He takes a bite, pointedly in the direction of his traitor bots. You does a contented whirring noise, and Tony smiles. “Been for a few weeks now.”

“And why didn’t you tell me?”

Tony swallows the mouthful of ham and rye and tries not to squirm. It’s not that he was purposefully withholding information. It’s just that… okay, who is he kidding, that’s exactly what he was doing. “Everything is so… shitty,” there’s a sigh and a giggle on the other side, and Tony bites his lip. “It’s hard enough as it is. I… I guess I wanted to keep the peace for a bit longer.”

“You haven’t had peace in a long time, Tony Stark, and if I know them the way that I believe I do then they haven’t let you have any either.” Tony merely sighs, and leans back against his chair. He can feel the lecture coming. “What happened, everything, wasn’t just your fault. It’s time for you to stop apologizing and let them do it instead, and I know. _I know, _Tony, okay? You don’t believe me; you probably never will unless they’re the ones that tell you, but you can’t keep doing this to yourself.”

“They _just_ came back. They’re barely readjusting as is. It just seems like the polite thing to do, waiting for a bit before I start another war,” DUM-E beeps angrily at him and uses his claw to pull at Tony’s hair in admonishment. The mechanic glares at him and waves him off.

“I take it the boys disagree,” the voice on the other end sounds amused.

“As if they ever do,” Tony says and he tries to sound angry but he knows it comes out fonder than anything. It’s not like he can ever truly be angry at the people he loves, anyway. “But as I said, we’re trying to keep the peace at the moment.”

“All of you?” and Tony hears the skepticism in the question. He sighs. “You don’t have to take it, you know? You deserve to give your side of the store. Nat says you won’t tell them what you did.”

“What’s the point?”

“They point, Tony,” is said incredulously. “Is that you’re a wonderful, kind man who did everything he could to keep his family safe. _The point_,” is said over Tony’s attempt to interrupt. He can’t hear this. “is that you are being treated unfairly. They don’t know everything and yet they’re judging you. They’re supposed to be your family.”

“There’s no point,” Tony says dejectedly. “But… I think it’s time.”

“I suppose there’s a jet waiting for us at the airport?”

Tony grimaces and lets out a chuckle. “Try your front yard?”

There’s a high pitched laugh on the other side that makes him smile.

** _He is hard on himself, he is broken and won't ask for help_ **

“How are they?”

“The same,” Natasha says as she watches Clint curse at Sam for blueshelling him. They’re in the communal living room. Clint has been obsessively playing video games to distract himself, and Sam seems to be the only one that puts up with it. Through the window she can Viz and Wanda talking quietly as they take a turn about the grounds. Steve has been holed up in the gym, or his room with his sketches, and seems to be making his very best effort at turning into a hermit. She sighs. “T’Challa should be coming back within the day.”

“With Barnes,” he says, and his voice is no longer the controlled tone that he has perfect. Tasha’s mouth quirks up. “How is he?”

“You’d know better than I do, Phil,” she says with a tone of resignation. “He’s in the lab; he won’t talk to anyone unless it’s Rhodes or Parker comes to pay him a visit. He rarely comes out anymore, and Pepper is clearly not calling him for SI business.”

“I’ve spoken to her,” Phil says quickly. There’s a grunt, and then the familiar sound of his taser. Tasha smiles. It’s nice to know that some things never seem to change. “She seems to be under the impression that she’s helping. Giving him some time to cool off.”

Tasha snorts derisively. He can see where Tony learned that response then. “Something has to give, Phil. That’s what we’re doing, too, trying to keep the peace. It’s not helping, all it did was get Stark punched in the face and Rhodey swearing at everyone.”

“No progress there either, then?”

“No, there has been, but not where it should be. Rhodey is comfortable enough with Sam now, and Viz has been working his charm to get him to calm down around Wanda. I think Steve let him get a few punches in while they were training Peter, and they talked so they seem okay, but…”

“But Stark still won’t come out, and they still won’t make an effort to meet him half way,” Phil says, annoyed.

“Yeah, Steve seems to think he’s helping,” Tasha sighs. Her boys can be such idiots sometimes.

“Well, someone has to tell the captain how to get his head out of his ass,” Phil bites off on the other end. There’s another thud, and a gentle female cheer. Tasha is surprised at the vehemence of his tone. If anything, Phil has always been a Cap fan. It’s nice to know that it is not blind to the man’s faults; not to mention the fact that the agent has always had a soft spot for their resident genius.

“Have anyone in mind, Agent Coulson?” Tasha says with a smile. She already knows the answer. Part of her, though she’ll never own up to it, is relieved that she might soon have some back-up. Especially when she sees the jet, not a Wakandan one, land in the airstrip.

“I think they’ve got this here. I’ll see you soon,” Phil sounds more animated now. “And Tasha, we’ll make it right. Somehow. That’s what family does, right?”

“Yeah,” she says as she watches a woman come out of the jet. Her eyes cut to Barton, still distracted with his game, and wonders if he can sense the storm that’s coming his way. She decides to keep quiet about it. Maybe he needs some retribution.

** _He is messy, but he's kind, he is lonely most of the time_ **

“Boss, the package you sent for pick up has arrived,” FRIDAY says cheerfully. Tony detects the trace of excitement in her voice, and it is contagious to the other bots. They beep happily and Tony has to shake his head at their antics. God, they’re like puppies. Or children, though they don’t slobber as much.

“Yeah? How are they?”

“Looking pretty good, though there’s a bit of slobbering. Also, there seems to be an ouchie of some kind,” FRIDAY relays and Tony has her do the proper scans to make sure everything is in place. Once everything seems to be in order, the mechanic shuts down his station and makes his way to welcome his new guests home. He checks that the accommodations are ready, and takes a fortifying breath.

Being in the communal floors still makes his chest tighten though he doesn’t feel his hands tremble anymore. After that first meeting, and after Rhodey had gone Barton hunting and had gotten the coffee table snapped in half, things seemed to have simmered down. Everyone seemed to have reached an agreement about staying out of one another’s space. Though sometimes he would run into Sam on his way to coffee, and after the first couple of days where the other pilot would just look at him, now they would smile at each other nicely enough. Sam had even gone as far as apologizing for Rhodey to _Tony _though the engineer had no idea why he thought it necessary. At least, Tony had reached peace with one of them.

“Where is he?” Tony asks FRIDAY as he sees that the game console is being used by Sam and Scott. They turn their heads at the sound of his voice, and though Lang is still hesitant around him, Sam gives him a friendly _Hey, Tony. _

“Communal kitchen with Agent Romanoff, boss,” FRIDAY relays quietly. Once he makes his way a bit further into the room, Tony can see them talking though they don’t pay attention to him. He wonders if he should mention it then, but then he doesn’t have to.

“Daddy!” Lila yells as they make their way inside and God, she’s already crying. Her dark braids swaying behind her as she runs to her dad. Tony sees the surprise and devastation on Barton’s face for a second before he’s running out to meet his kid half way.

Laura has baby Nate in her arms, his eyes huge as they stares at his father and sister, and Cooper is standing stock still next to her. His eyes are tearing up, but there’s a scowl on his face as he stares at his father. When Clint’s face comes out of Lila’s hair, he meets the eyes that are so like his own, and Tony has to look away at the pain there at his son’s rejection. He gets to his feet, Lila still cradled protectively in his arms, and takes an aborted step forwards. The whole room has gone silent, and when Tony meets Tasha’s eyes he says that he’s not the only one affected.

Before anyone can say anything, though, there’s footsteps behind the Bartons.

“Laura, where is To—“ her eyes go impossibly round as she catches sight of the man on the couch. Tony bites his lip at the noise Lang makes, and then his daughter is tearing to his side with a heartbreaking chant of “Daddy, daddy, _daddy_.”

Sam sits stock still as Lang hugs his daughter so tight his muscles contract, and then he has the wherewithal to put his hand on the other man’s back. He rubs at his tense muscles, clearly trying to calm him down so that the little girl can stop crying. He looks like he’s about to cry too, though, when Tony meets his eyes. Falcon looks around the room for a second, and then at Tasha, and then finally rests his eyes on Tony. He seems to have made a decision, though, because he mouths, decisively and determinedly, “thank you,” to Tony. The mechanic swallows hard and shakes his head unable to meet the other man’s gaze any longer.

“How—“Barton doesn’t get to finish before Laura is marching towards him. She’s glaring the whole time and he has the good sense to gulp down and take a step back.

“Tony, would you mind taking the kids out to the rec room you built them?” Laura says sweetly to him. She’s holding Nate out, now, and the mechanic has no choice but to take the squirming baby. He notices the woman’s choice of words and the impact they have on her husband.

“Why are you—he’s—how have—“Before Barton can keep stabbing his already faulty heart, Tony focuses on the baby in his arms.

Baby Bart is possibly the cutest thing Tony has ever seen. He’s squirmy and squishy, and has a little button nose that he’s scrunching up at the mechanic just then. His downy hair smells like baby shampoo and his stubby little fingers bunch up in his t-shirt. He’d been staring at his daddy in confusion on why they argued, but now his attention is purely on Tony. And God, those eyes. Tony is such a sucker for huge brown eyes, Peter would tell anyone.

“Hi, little traitor,” Tony says to the baby and Nate laughs. His aunt Tasha calls him that sometimes, and after the third visit Tony had paid to his mom and siblings he had been allowed to call him that, too.

“Unc’a ‘Ohhhnyyy,” the baby says in delight and nuzzles his nose onto Tony’s goatee. He giggles at the feel of the fuzzy hair, and Tony’s heart melts. God, this kid. He’s burrowed himself so deep into the mechanic’s heart it’s not even funny.

“What the fuck?” Barton’s incredulous, though not angry not exactly, voice pulls him out of the moment. He notices that all the room’s occupants are staring at him then, and he feels heat crawl up his neck. He’s about to hand the baby back to his mother, clearly the baby’s dad has some disagreement with her choices, but then Laura is giving him a determined stare.

“Tony,” she says, and the tone of her voice lets him know that it’s best if he doesn’t argue with her. “You’ve watched him before, you’ll be absolutely fine. Could you take the others with you, please?”

It’s only because Coop is suddenly at his side, plastered to Tony really, and Nate is going off on a litany of “Unc’a ‘Ony, Unc’a ‘Ony,” as if he’s singing a little song to himself that the mechanic finds himself nodding. He ruffles Cooper’s hair and turns to Cassie. Lang is still hugging her to his chest, but now he’s giving Tony a look that can only be described as assessing.

“I… suppose you want her to—“Tony stumbles over his words. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s had to be around Cassie. After… everything went to shit, he’d hunted down the Barton and Lang families to try and keep them safe. He had no doubt in his mind that Ross or anyone else would eventually attempt to use them as bait for the fugitives. Even months later he doesn’t know how Tasha and Laura had corralled him into babysitting on more than one occasion.

Lang doesn’t say anything, and Clint doesn’t seem willing to let Lila go so Tony pats Cooper’s head and ushers him out in the direction of the exit. “Buh-bye, buh-bye,” Nate is singing now while opening and closing his little fist. Tony chuckles at the kid’s antics as he goes.

“Actually, Mr. Stark,” Lang’s voice stops him just as he’s about to leave the room. He turns around in surprise, and Lang gives him a smile. Cassie’s face is puffy and red from crying, but she’s smiling like Christmas and her birthday have come at the same time. “If… if it’s all right, could Cassie go with you? I think… well, I think there’s some things I need to know and maybe Mrs. Barton can enlighten me about them.”

“I, uh, yeah… I can… yeah, I can take her. C’mon, bug,” the pet name passes through his lips without him even knowing, and he winces. Lang gives him a surprised stare as Cassie gives him a final hug and runs towards Tony.

“Hi, Tony!” she chirps excitedly as she wraps her arms around his middle. “Are we gonna see DUM-E? I liked playing with him last time, and he likes fetching things for Baby Bart. Why is daddy here? Laura said we were gonna come visit you ‘cause you’ve been sad, but she didn’t say he was here.”

Tony can feel the embarrassed rush of blood to his ears, and he determinedly avoids eye contact with everyone who isn’t Cassie. Cooper giggles next to him, and Tony turns to give him an unimpressed glare. The little shit only gives him a grin back, and Tony huffs. “Well, Tasha and the others got your dad here a few days ago, but you couldn’t come by yet since you were in school. So once you were on holiday, we called up Laura and asked her to bring you here so you all could see your dads.”

“Laura and Hope said _you_ were bringing daddy home and Tasha and Kitty King were helping you,” Cassie says smartly.

Tony chuckles at the name the children had given T’Challa. Though they haven’t met yet, officially, they had been interested in him after watching some news segment. Still, though, that particular cat shouldn’t be out of the bag quite yet. “Yes, well, we all helped. Now, we have to go so the adults can talk for a bit.”

“I don’t know why we can’t stay,” Cooper mutters, and it’s the first thing he’s said since he stepped into the room.

“Try being one, kid,” Tony says as he adjusts Baby Bart.

“But you’re not ‘cause you’re coming with us,” Cooper says mischievously. A giggle on his other side lets him know that Lila has now joined them. Tony rolls his eyes at her, and she gives him a big smile.

“All right, rugrats, we really have to go. Do you all remember where the rec room is?” excited little nods are his response, and even Baby Bart is doing it too. “Okay, well, mini-bots, assemble” he says and before he can get another word they’re running out of the room. “Be—“there’s the squeaking of sneakers on his floor and giggling, “careful,” he finishes with a sigh and a shake of his head.

“Seems like you’re gonna need help,” a voice says from behind him. Tony turns around to see a smiling Sam standing with his hands shoved into his pockets. The others have vacated the room, and Tony is thankful he gets to avoid any more of Barton’s glares, but he can hear them talking through the kitchen. Laura sounds like she’s in quite the tirade.

“They behave,” there’s the sound of something crashing and a beeping noise from the hallway. Sam laughs when Tony winces. “For the most part. DUM-E seems to be the real troublemaker.”

“’Ummy?” Baby Bart says inquisitively. “Unc’a ‘Onny, ‘Ummy?”

“Yes, yes, little traitor,” Tony says as he walks towards the mini rec room, Sam on his heels. “We’re gonna go see your bestie in a bit.”

After a few minutes of walking in silence, and Sam chuckling at the trail of mini-me clothes on the way, the pilot chooses to breach the silence. “It was you, wasn’t it?”

“The idiot that thought this was a good idea?” Tony says and scowls when Baby Bart gnaws a bit at his cheek and Sam laughs.

“No,” the other man says with a last chuckle. “The pardons, the Accords, everything.”

“I—it was—we all did it. Tasha helped with the evidence and T’Challa went and braved the UN. I just… I just threw money at things,” he says with a half-assed shrug.

“T’Challa didn’t tell us,” Sam says, and there’s something like anger and offense in his tone.

“I asked him to,” Tony says and he distracts himself with blowing raspberries on Baby Bart’s cheek just to hear him giggle. “You saw the others, Sam,” he says before the pilot can object. “They hated me, that first day. If they’d known I had a hand on that they would never had accepted. The only reason they signed is because it was T’Challa who presented the accords and not me. They would have thought I was… manipulating them, somehow. You didn’t choose Cap because you knew him longer, Sam. You chose him because he was _right_. He was right about not trusting the accords, he was right not to sign them, he was right about everything; signing the accords wasn’t worth what was done to this team.”

“He wasn’t, though,” Sam says forcefully. He lays a hand on Tony’s arm when the other man is about to continue their walk. “Tony, look,” he shakes his head as if exasperated with himself. “The idea of keeping tabs on people like that didn’t sit well with me, that’s true. But I also went with him because he’s my friend. The dude that gave me back a purpose when I felt like I was stuck after my spotter died. He… I mean, he’s Captain America, you know? And that blinded me, a bit. No,” he chuckles mirthlessly and Tony sees something he recognizes all too well in the other man’s eyes. Self-loathing. “It blinded me a lot. It blinded me to the guy who made me who I was. Riley and I did what we did because of _you_, Tony. I know you designed the original specs from the army; I know you kept tweaking them after I joined Cap. I knew I owed you everything I had, the wings and Redwing and even the improvements at the VA where I used to work, and I didn’t value that.”

“Sam, I—“Tony’s chest constricts at the emotion. It feels a bit like dejavu from that backstage at MIT. Except now he’s not being accused of murdering a young boy.

“No, Tony, listen to me,” the other man plants himself in front of Tony with an earnest look in his eyes. He’s holding onto Tony’s shoulders and even Baby Bart is quietly gnawing on his fingers. “I don’t know about the others, but for my part I am _so very _sorry. You deserved better than what I gave you. Even if we didn’t talk much, or we weren’t as close as me and Cap, you deserved more credit that what I gave you. I don’t know what happened in Siberia, but I know it’s bad. And if Cap hasn’t told me about it, then I know it’s pretty bad, but I also know,” he says and bends his head when Tony tries to drop eye contact. “I also know, that if he _can’t_ tell me though he’s tried, then it’s something that is eating at him. And that tells me enough. It wasn’t all your fault. We were your team, and we failed you. We should have trusted you more than we did. We turned our backs on you, and that’s on us.”

“You don’t know what I’ve done, Sam,” Tony says into Baby Bart’s hair.

“I know you didn’t kill him even when you could have,” Sam says and Tony rears back because what the hell. “Tony, Steve told us how the suit works. He laughed about it then, and so did we, _it knows my moves better than I do_, he said. You could have killed him, and yet you didn’t. He got to walk away on his own, while he left you behind. You didn’t follow them, Tony, that tells me enough. You _couldn’t _follow him. That’s on him. That will _always_ be on _him_.”

They’re quietly standing in the deserted hallway for a long time. Tony breathes in the smell of baby shampoo and pretends that his eyes aren’t tearing up. Part of his mind can’t compute what Sam is saying because what? Sam is Steve’s friend, perhaps his only one in this new century, and here he is taking Tony’s side? They’ve never even talked, not really. Tony had created Redwing and repaired the wings, sure, and sometimes when there was an Avengers event they would meet. Before Ultron, there were those parties that they all attended and Sam seemed to like him well enough, but… this. This is so much more than that.

“Owie, Unc’a ‘Ony?” Baby Bart says, and his little voice is filled with concern. Tony realizes he must have felt his trembling.

“Nah, buddy,” he says but his voice is rough. Sam gives his shoulder one last squeeze. “C’mon, let’s find the mini-bots before they destroy my building.” As if on cue, there’s the sound of cheering, both human and robotic, from the room down the hall. Tony laughs, and it’s a bit more genuine than it’s been in a long time. “You coming, Sam?”

“Yeah,” the pilot says with an easy grin and musses Baby Bart’s hair. “Though I think you’re over estimating them. Redwing causes more trouble.”

“You’re gonna regret saying that in a second,” Tony says with a grin. Sam’s laugh, Baby Bart’s giggles when they go in and see the mess of toys in the room, and the kids’ easy cheer for him makes his chest fill with a peculiar sort of warmth. For once, though, he decides not to look at it too closely and instead enjoy it. just for a bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One down, like... four more to go.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I had no idea I was this angry at Clint still so LOL  
Also, Baby Nate continues to be the most perfect baby in existence.   
Laura Barton kicks ass, and I'm sad to say that while i wrote this I kept thinking "He's so nice in my head'; it's definitely OOC" (brownie points if you leave me a comment and tell me who you think I mean.)

** _He is all of this _ **

Sam turns out to be a pretty good babysitter. Tony sits with Baby Bart on his lap on the floor of the rec room after the children make them move the furniture around for their puzzle. Cooper is acting as the official big brother for both Lila and Cassie. He lets them pick the activities that they want to play and doesn’t seem at all phased when the little girls put a sparkling purple crown on his head and make him color their My Little Pony book. Sam sits by them and hands them the colors for a good bit; he offers his sincere criticism of their coloring skills and Tony laughs at the seriousness of the children.

When they get bored with that, Tony offers to get them one of the gaming consoles from the living room. Laura, and even Hope when Tony had talked to her, had expressed their preference for the children to limit their time with electronics. Being, essentially, a single mother for most of the year, Laura tended to let them watch television or play with their tablets during the day when she was busy. Being at Tony’s not only provided respite from that, but also a babysitter to entertain the children. However, they had allowed Tony the privilege of deciding whether he wanted to be the “cool uncle” who let them mess around with tech whenever they were at the compound, or if he followed their suggestion of providing them with more real life interaction. Tony had tried both, but had found that it was much better to let them get into things hands on and then answer their questions when they had them. Not only were they more aware of the real world, but they learned new things every time and so did Tony.

“Blue!” Baby Bart said when Tony raised the next card with a little blue square on it.

“Very good, little traitor,” the mechanic said and kissed the baby’s downy hair. “Now, can you tell me what it is?”

“Box?” the boy asked tentatively.

“Almost, it’s a square. Can you say square?”

“Es-que!” Baby Nate said and then giggled.

“Very good, baby boy!” Tony said and offered him a fist bump. He’d spent his whole last visit teaching the kid how to do it, and was insanely proud when Baby Bart had decided that was the only acceptable greeting he could give to anyone he met. The first time he’d seen Vision after that had the android giving Tony a droll stare, though there was a smile on his lips.

“Sham!” Baby Bart yelled out next, and the pilot scooted a little closer to them. “Sham, es-que. Blue!”

“Hey! You got it. Good job, buddy,” Sam said and offered his own fist for a bump. Nate giggled again.

Tony spent a few more minutes teaching the little boy about colors and shapes and new words. Nate was like a little sponge, soaking and repeating everything that the engineer told him, and though tony was fairly certain he wouldn’t remember most of it he still took great pleasure in teaching him all of it. If by the next visit he remembered even one word, Tony would consider it an accomplishment. The older kids played duck-duck-goose with Sam for a good bit, and then decided to make a puzzle. They were putting the final pieces together when there was a tentative knock from the entryway.

Scott Lang was standing in the doorway with a puzzled, yet happy look on his face. Tony noted, with some relief, that there was no apprehensiveness or distrust on the other man’s face. If anything, he looked pleasantly surprised. If a little awkward, though Tony was beginning to suspect it was just his normal state of being.

“Hey, uh, the house bot told me where to find you guys,” he said with a nervous chuckle. Cassie gave him a big grin as she helped the other children to put the puzzle together, and he smiled at her adoringly. Then his eyes met Tony’s and he became serious again. “Mr. Stark, may I speak to you for a second?” he asked with an inclination of his head towards the empty hallway.

Tony nodded, and gave Baby Bart a last kiss on the top of his head. Sam stared at Scott for a long while before he looked at Tony. _You sure you want to?_ His eyes seemed to ask, and Tony was pleased with himself for having picked up enough about the other man’s social cues to know this much. He handed the baby over to the pilot, and he hesitantly took him.

“I’ll be fine,” Tony answered the unspoken question. It was no surprised that the other man had noticed how Tony used the baby as a touch stone when they had their earlier chat. The name was code-named the Falcon, after all.

“If you’re sure,” Sam said softly. “We’ll be here,” he said confidently, and Tony noticed the tone of warning in his voice. For once, he was fairly certain it wasn’t meant for him. The mechanic saw Lang nod from the corner of his eye.

Once outside, Tony didn’t think they needed to go very far. He didn’t know the other man well, or at all really, so whatever he wanted to talk about shouldn’t escalate to the level of making the children aware. It wasn’t like with Ste-_Rogers_ where they could go at each other until their chests were heaving and their throats raw. If Lang wanted to get a couple of punches in then that was fine. It’s not like Tony wouldn’t have practice with that. He cracked his jaw.

For a long moment, they merely stared at each other. The other man’s eyes were stormy as they looked into Tony’s eyes. The mechanic realized with a start that the other man was younger than him, though the creases near his eyes spoke of the same stress Tony felt. A pang of sympathy hit Tony as he remembered the file he had compiled of the other man when Ste-_Rogers’_ team had pulled him in. if there was anything that Tony could sympathize with was desperate decisions.

Tony was pulled out of his reverie when the other man stuck out a hand. The mechanic stared at him in confusion and then wearily shook his hand. Lang gave him a good squeeze, but it somehow didn’t seem threatening to Tony. Then, without warning, the other man pulled him in for the most awkward hug of his life. the mechanic tensed for a moment, and the other man let him go.

“I’m sorry. I just—I’m not—I just. Laura said I should do that,” Scott said awkwardly and seemed to be unable to meet Tony’s eyes.

The mechanic stared at him with wide eyes, and then the ridiculousness of the situation got to him and he began to laugh. Honestly, less than a year ago this man had turned ginormous and had tried to squeeze him and his friends like grapes. Less than a year ago, this man had told him that Hank Pym, a man who didn’t know anything about Tony, had been right in saying not to trust a Stark. Then he turns all of that around and tells hugs him. When he had created Iron Man, Tony had never thought about just how strange things would be for him. Though the foes from outer space and dude with a reindeer helmet should have clued him in.

“Yeah, I figured. She’s been trying to socialize me,” tony says with an easy grin. It’s kind of hard to hate the man when he’s staring at Tony like he’s quaking on the inside, and the mechanic has been caring for his daughter for the past few months. Truth be told, Tony figured the two of them could have been friends once upon a time.

“She also said that I should apologize,” Scott muttered, and Tony immediately went cold. Hundreds of fake apologies sprung up to his head; all the times Obie had said something cutting and apologized meaninglessly, the times Ty would punch him and then say sorry and do it again, the times Pepper would apologize when she couldn’t look at Tony after a mission. He didn’t need that from a virtual stranger too.

“Taking care of Cassie was no trouble, Mr. Lang,” Tony said and he knew his tone was cutting. “She’s a kid that needed help, and I could provide it. You don’t owe me anything.” With that, he tried to make his way into the rec room. For a second there he’d thought… he shook his head to stop himself from continuing on that train of thought.

“Now hang on a second, jackass,” Lang said and grabbed for his arm. Tony raised an eyebrow and look down at the hand gripping his. For a second, there was a flare of panic at a stranger grabbing for him, but the sound of the children in the next room helped calm him down. “Sorry,” Lang said sheepishly, and let him go. “Force of habit, the being an ass part. I didn’t mean to say that I was doing this because Mrs. Barton forced me to. I was always going to, but I wanted to know just how much you’d done for my little girl. I know you went to find her as soon as you knew I had joined Cap. I wanted to know why.”

“As I said, she’s a kid that needed help. I know a thing or two about absent fathers,” Tony said without meeting the other man’s eyes. He was the last person to pass judgment, he knew, but goddamn. Cassie was a sweet little girl who adored her father and would talk about him for however long they let her. He’d known he would do anything to keep her safe the moment he had found her and Hope.

“I didn’t mean to—“

“Parents never do,” Tony said gently. He imagined a harried looking man that looked just like him, and a brushed kiss against his cheek. Promises of holiday visits and empty manors. He shook his head to rid himself of the memories.

“I was trying to keep her safe,” Lang said, and then he shook his head angrily. “I know why I did what I did, Mr. Stark. And because of that I want to offer you my apologies. I went into that fight without all the information. Clint came to get me, said Cap needed help, and I didn’t ask any more questions. I let my distrust of what I know of law enforcement to cloud my judgement and made an uninformed decisions. If asked again, I don’t know if I would have done things differently, but I have no excuse for what I did to you and your friends. I just wanted to say thank you for taking care of my daughter when I wasn’t around, and I don’t know why you did what you did for the Accords for her or me, but I’m glad you kept her safe. I have no idea what I would do if Ross had gotten to her.”

Tony kept quiet and allowed himself time to process what had been said to him. Two apologies, which sounded utterly sincere no less, in one day seemed to be overwhelming his brain completely. He didn’t know how to deal with these many emotions in a good day, let alone when he was this tired. He decided that, seeing as Lang had nowhere to go, he might as well try to get on the right side of the man. If Tony was to continue to live on the compound, he would need to make things right with its occupants if he wanted to stop avoiding everyone.

“That’s why,” Tony said, deciding to be truthful. When the other man gave him a confused stare, Tony shrugged and shoved his hands into his pockets. “You said you didn’t know what you’d do if your daughter were in danger. I—to be honest, I did whatever you could when my family was.” Tony turned his head to look at Lang, and caught sight of a pair of blue eyes over the other man’s shoulders. “I did whatever I could to keep _my_ family safe, Mr. Lang,” he said, and though he was still speaking quietly he knew that the blond had heard him. He caught the quirk at the side of that perfect mouth, and then the other man was gone.

Scott gave him a solemn nod, which Tony returned, then he made his way back to the rec room. Before he could enter, Ant-Man caught his arm again. It seemed like this was something the mechanic would have to get used to, though he smiled a little. There were worse habits to put up with than this.

“I just—I was wrong,” and Tony barely stopped himself from saying _no shit_. “Or, well, Pym was wrong. I don’t know what beef he had with your dad, but he clearly didn’t know shit about you. Mr. Stark can definitely be trusted.”

_I was wrong. Tony Stark totally recommended, _Tasha’s voice whispered in his head. It had been after the battle of New York when Tony’s mouth was running a thousand miles a minute. When he was trying to convince them that the Tower was the best place for them to be. When he was attempting to restrain himself from sounded too eager as he offered them his home. After, when only Tasha and Clint had agreed because it was late and they were exhausted and Tony had been unable to sleep and Tasha had found him nursing a tumbler of scotch while he sat in front of the floor to ceiling window.

“Thanks,” Tony said and found that he really meant it. “And you can call me Tony, you know. Since we’re like three seconds away from braiding each other’s hair.”

“Obviously you don’t know what you’re talking about man,” Lang said with a laugh. “Everyone knows you gotta put your face mask on first.”

They shared a laugh as they went back to the rec room, and then had to double up laughing as they caught sight of Sam. He was sitting with a long suffering look on his face as Lila and Cassie painted his fingernails with the mini bottle of polish from their toy vanity, and Cooper sat with Nate on his lap and suggested colors to the girls. The pilot had a feathered boa around his neck, rings on the tips of his fingers where they couldn’t go anything farther down, and Cooper’s tiara sitting lopsidedly on the top of his head.

“Daddy come play!” Cassie said as she caught sight of her father and a mischievous glint came into her eyes. The other man’s eyes went wide.

“I think it’s just about time for dinner, actually,” Tony said and gave a grin at the other man’s grateful look. “Pretty sure Laura has made food for the whole platoon by now.”

“That’s a dic-“Sam’s eyes went wide when four pairs of a tiny eyes turned to him.”-tator move, man. Lang would totally rock the Pacific Waters.”

“Mmm, no,” Cassie said as Lila eyed Scott seriously. “I think Fuzzy Peach is more Daddy’s color.”

Cooper grinned as Sam and Tony burst out laughing. Scott spluttered and flushed, which sent the other two into another round of hysterics. Lila and Cassie gave long-suffering sighs while they muttered _men_ at each other and Baby Barton burped and giggled. This continued for another couple minutes until FRIDAY informed them that Laura was requesting their presence for dinner, and also announced that T’Challa had arrived with their special package about an hour before. Which explained where Ste-_Rogers_ had been coming from when Tony saw him.

“All right, mini-bots,” Tony said with a salute as he took Baby Barton from Cooper. The little boy cooed at him, and Tony gave him a grin. “The General is calling.”

“Onwards!” the three mini-me’s shouted and Tony was irrationally proud of having taught them that.

“Oh God,” Scott moaned. “You’ve turned my kid into a dork.”

“Like she wasn’t already,” Sam said, and Tony snorted in surprise. The pilot gave him a big grin as Scott continued to bemoan his daughter’s corruption into nerdhood.

“On’ads!” Baby Bart cried gleefully, and the men laughed and followed the children. More sedately, obviously. Because they were grown men, and they were better than that. And if FRIDAY said otherwise, then she was a dirty liar.

“You’re in so much trouble,” Lauran informed him with a mock-stern expression on her face. Most of the others were sitting at the dining room table where a stupid amount of pizzas was waiting. Tasha was handling drinks with Barton, and Ste-_Rogers_ was making sure to pass around plates and napkins and making sure the giggling kids didn’t try to get a slice before everyone had sat down. Sam clapped him on the back with a chuckle as Scott beat it out of there and sat down next to his daughter. _Traitors._

“It wasn’t me,” Tony said automatically and gave Laura his most angelic grin. Baby Nate giggled at him, and he thought _little traitor_ at the booger.

“Hmm,” she said with a raised eyebrow. “So you have no idea why my children and Cassie came yelling ‘to the general!’ into the kitchen?” Tony burst out laughing before he could help it, and she shook her head at him though she looked fond more than anything.

“Maaa,” Nate cooed at her and grinned, his rosy cheeks puffing up.

“Hi baby,” she said, though she made no move to take him from Tony. “Did you have fun with your Uncle Tony?”

“Unc’a ‘Ony, cowors!” he said, and sounded proud of himself. “Ye-llo!” he said and pointed at Laura’s blouse. Tony grinned down at him, bursting with pride. Score!

“That’s very good, sweetheart!” she praised. “Your Uncle Tony’s pretty smart, huh?” she asked the baby, and Tony blushed. He let his eyes roam around the kitchen and noticed the others weren’t paying any attention to them. It made him breathe easier until he caught Barton’s stormy eyes on him.

“Unc’a ‘Ony da bestest!” the boy said and patted at his chest affectionately. 

“Yeah, I bet,” she said with a laugh. Then gently pushed Tony towards the dining room when she caught sight of her husband. Tony walked by him without a word, and tried to avoid his eyes.

Rogers gave him a tentative smile when he caught sight of him, which Tony resolutely ignored as he tried to look for a seat. Rhodey was already sitting between Viz and Cooper and T’Challa had been captured and was sitting between Lila and Cassie. The little girls were so excited, and couldn’t seem to contain their questions. When one of them called him Kitty King, and the other giggled, T’Challa’s narrowed eyes met Tony’s. Rhodey couldn’t keep his laugh in, and even Viz offered a serene smile. Tasha was shaking her head, and both Rogers and Wanda had a confused look on their face.

“Here, feed him,” Laura said as she came in. she handed Tony a bottle, and he looked at her in confusion. He’d never had to feed the baby before, and he figured that with both the baby’s parents around one of them could do it.

“Give him to me,” a voice said from behind him when she moved into the room. Tony’s blood went cold, and he turned around with the fussy boy to see Barton glaring at him. The atmosphere in the room went silent at once. Tony could feel the whole table staring at them.

“Clint,” Laura said in warning.

“I’m his father,” he said, and Tony had never heard him sound so serious. Laura’s eyes narrowed into slits.

“Tony can feed him just fine. He’s been taking care of him for months,” she said, and there was barely controlled anger in her tone.

“I don’t care,” he said just as forcefully.

“Clint, we talked about this,” Tasha’s voice joined from the table.

“I don’t give a damn,” he said, ignoring the gasps from the kids. “I haven’t seen him in months. I’m his father. I damn well have the right.”

“And whose fault is that, Agent Barton,” T’Challa said with a tone of warning in his voice. He was on his feet, though one of his hands was dangling at his side where Lila had hold of his pinkie finger.

“You gotta chill, man,” Sam said and he sounded angry.

Trying to avoid a confrontation, Tony slowly handed the baby to his father. He ignored the little whimpering noise he made, though it killed him to do it. Baby Bart was still too young to understand what they were saying, but clearly he could sense the emotions in the room.

“It’s fine,” Tony said to the room at large. His eyes didn’t waver from Clint’s, though, as he showed the other man that he wouldn’t back down. Fuck his pride and his guilt, Tony had taken care of his family when he had fucked off to fight a war he had no business with. Tony had taken care of his family when he had picked a dangerously enhanced individual without training and without control over his family. He wouldn’t belittle what Tony had done in front of the others. He might have gotten a punch in when they had arrived, but he sure as fuck wouldn’t keep screwing him over. “I’ve never done it before. And if it appeases agent Barton’s sense of guilt to take care of his baby _now_ then that’s fine.”

He turned around with difficulty, but he wanted Barton to know how insignificant he thought him to be. It wasn’t true, Tony knew better than most how dangerous he truly was, but this was nothing more than a pissing contest. A way for Barton to prove to himself that he still had a hold over his family. That he could still provide. It might have been more animal instinct that anything else, but Barton wouldn’t take Tony down with him in this. If the sharp intake of breath from behind him was any indication, Tony had managed to hit his mark.

Because he was looking for a place to sit, and not at Barton, he was able to see the stormy look on Rogers’s face. For a second he thought he would be berated yet again. That now that Rogers had everything he wanted at his fingertips he would lay onto Tony and they would get the screaming match they were overdue in. so he was surprised when the Captain, he would never be anything else, got up to his feet and leveled a reproachful look over Tony’s shoulder.

“That is enough out of you, Barton,” Steve said in a hard voice. “We are living in _his_ compound, under _his _protection, and about to eat _his _food. After everything he has done for us, you _will_ show him some respect.”

“After everything—“the agent began with an incredulous tone in his voice.

“Sit!” Laura said from where she was serving the children. Her hand shook.

“Now!” Rogers almost barked when the other man didn’t. He sent an apologetic look at Cooper when he noticed him flinch. “Tony, please, join us for dinner. Everyone will be civil.” He cast a meaningful look across him to where Wanda was sitting.

Feeling like he was in a dream-like state, Tony did nothing but comply. Sam motioned to the sit next to him, and smiled when Tony complied. From the other side of the table, Rhodey raised his eyebrows at him. _Okay?_ Tony nodded, and was surprised to find that he actually was. It took some time, but soon the girls were chatting to T’Challa again and Laura and Tasha were conspiring with each other. Viz and Wanda were talking quietly to one another while Sam, Lang and Rogers were insulting each other’s teams. Rhodey tucked into his pizza while Cooper shot questions at him about his army training and his time at MIT. From the side, Baby Bart made smacking noises with his lips as he was given small bites of pizza, and Barton marveled at how big he had gotten.

Tony allowed himself a second, with his eyes closed, to take it all in. He let himself bask in the fact that despite the heartbreak, his team, his _family_, was together again. And sure, there were some cracks. And things weren’t really okay, not really, but the fact that they were all there was enough. After all the bullshit they’d been put through, they’d _pulled_ through, and that was all he could really ask for. As he heard them, the original members of the team and the ones they’d picked up along the way, he realized that _this _was what they’d fought so hard for. _This _had been worth it. he felt himself about to tear up, something he hadn’t allowed himself to do since before the war, until Cassie’s excited question pulled him back to the present. T’Challa gave him a smile that looked almost proud over the girl’s head, and he grinned back shyly.

The rest of the meal went without a hitch.

“Before everyone goes,” Rogers said to the group as the children were nodding off in their chairs and Laura and Lang had gotten up to take them to bed. They had finished their food hours ago, but had been too comfortable to break the fragile peace they had created. It had been dark outside for a while, and Baby Bart had fallen asleep in his father’s arms minutes before. The room turned to give the man their attention. “I’d like to ask all of the Avengers,” his breath hitched at the word. There was a note of incredulousness in his voice at being able to say it again. “Though Laura you are more than welcome to join, and I would appreciate it if you could be there, your majesty. I want to ask you all to meet me in the conference room tomorrow at eleven.”

“Do you have a mission for us?” There was a hard edge in the Maximoff girl’s voice.

“Yes,” Rogers said easily. He ignored the room’s sudden tension and cast them a serious glance. “I think it’s about time we discussed some things.” He met Tony’s eyes when he said his next point. “I believe this talk is long overdue, and most of it is my fault. Hindsight is twenty twenty, as they say, and it’s something we should have done a long time ago. It’s time we fix things, like we were meant to, as a team.”

“What are you saying, Rogers?” Barton’s serious voice asked after a beat.

“I think he’s trying to say is that it’s time to get our heads out of our asses and start listening, Barton,” Sam said. Tony could hear the judgment in his voice. Clint merely glared at him though he settled when Baby Bart murmured in his sleep.

“Though I wouldn’t have said it quite like that,” Rogers said with a meaningful look towards a giggling Cooper and an exasperated Laura. And then, in a move completely unprecedented to the mechanic, he turned towards him and asked, “Tony? Will you be able to join us?”

Tony looked at Rhodey across the table, but his brother was looking at the captain through narrowed eyes. The room was silent as they waited for his response, and he sensed a panic attack coming. In all of their acquaintance, the captain had never made meetings and debriefings optional. He had always told Tony that it was his job to attend these things. He had always been angry when Tony begged up because of SI or he was tired. Being presented with the choice was surprising, to say the least. Just when he was about to get fully caught in his own head, he met Viz’s eyes. The android was looking at him solemnly and unwaveringly, and Tony found himself settling. The android gave him one serious nod, and Tony felt himself relax.

“Yes, I can do that,” he said with a nod. _“WE _can do that,” he corrected.

“Together,” Rogers said with a smile that was blinding. And Tony found himself believing it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is gonna be so hard to write, honestly. What have I done to myself?


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit, it's been a minute and a half LOL

** _Mixed up _ **

If tony were hard pressed into giving an answer he would say that he had the most peaceful of rests that night. He would say that he didn’t toss and turn half the night trying to not freak out about the next day. He would like to say that once he got to sleep, he didn’t wake up to nightmares about the vision the witch had given him or the things that he had done. He would like to say that he didn’t wake up, gasping, clutching at his chest for a reactor that hadn’t been there for years. He would like to say that, halfway through the struggle, he hadn’t just given up and gone down to his workshop to keep tweaking the exoskeleton upgrades for Rhodey.

Thankfully, nobody he meets the next day had ever cared enough to ask how he was doing so he would probably be okay.

In the morning, Tony wakes up to the incessant beeping FRIDAY had chosen to alert him to a new video called. He scrunches his eyes tightly shut in an attempt to shut the outside world enough to stave off the headache. The sounds of the blender comes right on cue from DUM-E’s station, and Tony groans but can’t help chuckling tiredly immediately afterwards. Damn faulty bot with adorable quirks.

“Fry, tell Ross to shove his bullshit up his ass,” he says tiredly.

“Not Ross, boss,” FRIDAY says and then does that weird sound that Tony equates to a giggle whenever she says it like that.

“If it’s not Pepper then—“

“It’s the squirt, boss,” and that gets Tony getting his head off the table so fast that he gets dizzy. He blinks the spots dancing in his vision away, and then proceeds to slap at his cheeks. He hopes he looks healthy and awake enough to fool the kid.

“You look like crap. _Again. _You promised,” or maybe not. The kid on the other side is glaring at him in disappointment as he brushes his blond fringe away from his eyes. It’s a nervous tick Tony noticed since they met, but he doesn’t say anything about it. He still drums his fingers to an imaginary chest plate as it is, and he shouldn’t be a hypocrite about everything.

“I am fine,” and he even manages to sound like his usually snarky self.

“Yeah, and I’m totally not failing geography,” Harley says with just as much snark. Tony narrows his eyes.

“Say that again,” he says, and hopes to sound like a responsible adult.

“Wow, you must be _really_ tired if you can’t understand words with more than two syllables,” the sass monster says.

“Harley, we’ve talked about this. You can’t come if you don’t get your grades up,” Tony sighs and leans back against his chair. Damn kids, he thinks to himself as he remembers the other mini genius who owes him a talk about his PE and music credits.

“But it’s dumb,” he grumbles to himself and Tony smirks at him. It’s easy to forget, when he’s sassing and chastising Tony like he thrice his age, that the boy isn’t even fifteen yet. “And Mr. Spicer is a contradictory di—“

“Harley!” Tony says sternly. They’ve had a talk about language, too. Well, after Harley’s mom had yelled at Tony for a solid three minutes after yet another conference with the boy’s teacher after Tony had brought him to the compound for a weekend. Who knew kids were such sponges. “I know you hate him, okay, and I know he only says what the Toupee tells him to, but we promised your mom you’d keep your grades up. We’re still making up for the last time.”

“That was totally not our fault,” Harley says and grins at Tony. The mechanic feels his chest expand with a level of comfort and love for the kid that he doesn’t quite feel ready to express. The way the kid looks at him, though, tells him that maybe he doesn’t have to. “How are you, really?”

“I’m okay, honest,” Tony says with a small smile. _You’ve kept me sane, _he wants to say. _You and Peter and the kids and T’Challa, all of you keep reminding me why I do the things that I do. You are the only reason I’m still here. _“It’s… different, now. Everything is so—“

“Supercalifragilisticexpialidociously messed up?”

Tony’s laugh startles out of him, and he throws his head back to express his mirth.

Harley grins even further, and then laughs right along with him. “Ginny is going through a phase,” he says in that long suffering big brother tone that Tony has heard too many times from Rhodey. “I’m waiting for her to get to, like, the Hamilton part of her show tune obsession.”

“Musicals now, huh?” Tony chuckles. “I suppose we should be glad she’s finally over the watch.”

“I still blame you for that,” Harley says with a groan. Tony smirks at their mandatory reference. The Unfortunate Case of the Dora the Explorer Watch had been a sore point between the three of them since Tony went to visit the Keeners after the Mandarin incident.

“I got her a new one!”

“That one was a collectible!”

“The one I got her was one, too!”

“It wasn’t the same!”

“It’s still Dora, she was like four, how was I supposed to know she’d notice?!”

“YOU noticed! And you’d never even seen Dora before!”

“The lady at the store said it was better!”

“Like the 1983 AC/DC tour shirt is the same as the ’77?”

“Bite your tongue!” Tony says indignantly.

“_Boys!_” Mrs. Keener’s and FRIDAY’s voices say at the same time. Maybe they’ve had these arguments too many times. It doesn’t stop them from glaring at each other through the screen.

“Anyway!” Harley says and leans forward in his seat. He squints his eyes at Tony. “Peter texted me,” he begins ominously. Tony groans. “No, no, no, now you gotta listen to me. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You’re a kid, Harley. I know you two think you gotta take care of me or whatever, but you both have lives of your own. You were doing your robotics thing, and trying to bring those grades up don’t think I don’t know about your backed up reading assignments, and doing soccer besides. I was handling it. I _am _handling it.”

“Yeah, bullshit,” Harley almost growls at him.

“Hey! Language! I don’t tell you off for a lot of things, Harley, but you do not use that kind of language. I don’t care if you call me a hypocrite,” Tony raises a hand to stave off more prepubescent arguments. “We’ve had this talk with your mother too many times, Har. You do _not_ say things like that. Understand?”

“Yeah,” he says sullenly. Tony knows he’s playing him, he _knows_, but every time Harley or Peter or any of the kids do the whole pouty thing he feels like the worst human on the planet. He might be, but that doesn’t mean that he wants to feel the kids feel bad.

“Aw, Har, come on. Just watch your mouth, kid, okay?”

“Yeah, I know. I’m sorry. It’s just… I just… I’m worried about you. I don’t… you’re not okay, and you weren’t before and nobody noticed and then you had to call me and I didn’t know what to do and I don’t want that to happen again.” Tony opens his mouth to refute him, but clearly the kid is on a roll. “I mean, I guess now we have Peter and FRIDAY would definitely call him before me, but then you’d be alone and I wouldn’t know, and then Rhodey would be worried and then I’d be worried and then you’d pretend like it’s okay but we’ll know it’s not and you’ll try so hard to make it seem like it was but now there’ nobody to drag you out of the lab and—“

“Har, breathe,” Tony says softly as the kid continues to wrinkle the hell out of his shirt. He lets the air out of his lungs slowly, and pinches the bridge of his nose. He’d forgotten how perceptive his kids are. He’d forgotten, though it makes him feel like shit, how much Harley had always cared. Even through the snark and the fronting and the big brother couldn’t care less attitude, the kid was gold. Through and through. “I’m not okay, you’re right. I will be, though, and I need you to believe that. I need you to believe that I will get better. I need you to believe that, and to go on being a kid and being rowdy and loud and blowing things up so that I can do it. So that I know that I _have to._”

“You’re the one that blew up our lab, mechanic,” Harley grumbles and wipes at his nose. Tony looks away so that the kid can compose himself. They’re much too alike for their own good, he thinks. “Peter’s worried, too,” and now he sounds like the sullen prepubescent that he is.

“I know,” Tony says with a soft smile. Honestly, these kids. “He’s spent most of his days here watching me. It’s a bit creepy, honestly, but you don’t need to worry. Things are… not good, but at least they are civil.”

“They’re back, though. That’s gotta be weird.”

“It is, but I think we should just be glad we haven’t killed each other yet. Not for like of trying, I guess, but there’s that.” Tony stretches his back and scratches at the back of his head. God, he’s sore.

“Have they?”

“Have they what?” Tony gets distracted by DUM-E, which is why he doesn’t notice the seriousness of the kid right away. The bot is barely approaching him, but he can smell the gasoline in the smoothie he’s been made. The darker part of his mind thinks that if he’d actually turned suicidal, it wouldn’t have been too hard to get rid of himself. _You did_, that same dark corner says, _remember those few days of the BARF? Remember the altitude high in the suit? Remember the long visits to the Raft? Couldn’t even do that much right, could you, boy? “—_ot real! It’s not real, Tony!”

Tony rears back and shakes his head to dislodge the vision. God, he was a failure. Now Harley looked even more stressed out than before. He was such a piece of shit sometimes. “Fine. I’m fine, Har. Just… minor step back, you know how it is.”

“I’m calling Peter,” the kid says and his voice has taken that no nonsense tone he adopts when Ginny wants to mess around with the roadster Tony sent him.

“He has a chemistry test that he can’t afford to not study for, so no you are not. Aunt May would dismember us both.”

“She wouldn’t hurt me,” Harley says smugly. They’d met once and Tony was one hundred percent sure the kid was right. “She said so. She’d just take it out on me.”

“Torture,” Tony says pathetically and lets his head fall onto his desk. “She’d torture and then dismember me.”

“You’d deserve it for lying to us,” and they’re back to that.

“Honestly, it’s just a meeting. I’ll be okay. They’ll yell at me for a while, Cap will do the whole ‘we do this together or not at all so you listen to me, Stark’ schtick and then everyone will go on their merry way. We’ll pretend to get along, go on training, wanda and clint will go on hating me. It’ll be all right.”

“It’s your house,” Harley says and puffs out his chest. Tony suppresses a groan, now he’s got the kid on a roll. “It’s your house, and your tech and your money and your food and your everything. It was your team and your lawyers and your _brain _that got them back. You don’t have to put up with their crap. They don’t get to yell out and—and make you feel like _that_,” he gestures to Tony and wow he must really look like shit if the kid doesn’t even need to use words to express himself. “when they’re taking and using your stuff. Did they even give you a choice in this? Peter said Rhodey told him you were all having a meeting, thanks for not telling me they’re back by the way, but he never said if you even wanted to and let me tell you, that would be a pretty shi—“

“He gave me a choice,” Tony said quietly. Harley snaps his mouth shut. “He’s always given me a choice, Harley. He’s never forced me to do anything. It’s not really his fault I’ve chosen so poorly in the past.” Harley’s mouth opens, no doubt about to go on another tirade, but FRIDAY interrupts him.

“Boss, your presence is required,” she says in the no nonsense tone she’d adopted from talking to too many moms.

“Thanks, Fry,” Tony takes care to meet Harley’s eyes head on. “I will be okay, Har. We’re just talking,” he tries not to think about how _well_ that had gone when he’d tried in the past. “Now, go do your homework. I don’t need want to take the shop away, but I’ll have to unless I want your mother breaking down my door. Especially if it’s for something as easy as geography.”

“Yeah, like you know so much about it!” Harley sticks his tongue out at him and Tony smiles fondly.

“There are fifty states and Mount Rushmore is in South Dakota, I’m practically an expert. Now, get, shortstack!” Tony cuts the call and chuckles to himself. He’s going to be on the receiving end of so much sass when he talks to the boy again.

However much he tries to deny it, though, Tony can’t lie to himself as much as he would like. Harley has definitely worked his magic in those scarce minutes. He’s a bit more settled as he makes his way to the conference room. He balls his shaking hands and shoves them in his pockets. He can’t deny that he’s apprehensive, he refuses to call it _afraid_, but at least he’s not about to bolt as he had been a mere hour ago.

He finds King T’Challa loitering outside the conference room, and though he sees that the others are already inside nobody is paying attention to the monarch. They’re all having separate, hushed conversations or looking down at the big tome in front of them. Natasha and the Captain seem to be deep in conversation about something that looks intense.

“Anthony,” the king calls his attention. Tony smiles warmly at him, something that would be a feat for anyone else calling him by that name. With the younger man, it never seemed like much of a problem despite the baggage the mechanic associates with it. “I’m glad you are here,” he says and gives Tony’s hand a friendly squeeze.

“Thought I’d bolt, your highness?” Tony says with a raised eyebrow.

The king laughs, and Tony smirks. The unlikely companionship they’d struck was something he never would have predicted, futurist brain or not. Tony had always thought himself too lowly, too jaded and dirty, to attract pure hearted people like the young monarch. If nothing else, at least he can be glad that he’d gained an allied, maybe even a friend.

“Oh, Anthony,” T’Challa says with mirth in his tone. “You could be in nothing but your underwear facing an army, and you still wouldn’t run away.”

“Think I’m that stupid, do you?” Tony says and he’s not even offended. It’s not like the young man is lying.

“i’d call it brave, myself. A man full of convictions, if I’m honest.”

“Some would call it stubborn,” Tony says and his eyes flick to the man on the other side of the glass partition. Blue eyes meet his, and then flit away.

“It is easier to find our own faults in others than in ourselves, Tony,” T’Challa says and though he hadn’t even turned around he is brilliant enough to have guessed. He meets Tony’s eyes square on and says, sincerely, “That doesn’t mean it is okay. It does not mean that they are right.”

“Yes, well,” Tony is, in one of the rare occasions in his life, left speechless.

“You boys coming in or should we start without you?” Natasha materializes behind the king. Tony startles, but T’Challa merely inclines his head to motion Tony forward. The mechanic feels his phone buzzing in his pocket as he walks over to the door. He pulls it out and grins at the messages he’s received.

[From: The Bug

Harley texted. Meeting today will be fine

Aunt May is a slave driver, but I can be there in twenty minutes

Don’t let them bulldoze you

Rhodey gave me permission to use extreme force

Like the old man said, rigt?]

_Yeah, _Tony thinks as his eyes meet Rhodey’s across the room. Natasha gives his hand a squeeze and T’Challa places a hand on the small of his back to lead him forward. He doesn’t know how this meeting will go, if it’ll be another repeat of the last to add more fuel to his nightmares or if they will actually make a difference, but he’s willing to try. T’Challa had said he was a man of convictions, and he thinks he wants to prove the man right. His eyes meet determined blue, and he takes a deep breath. _Like the old man said._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, though, like between work and college and scholarship apps and playing "Horrible Things 45 Has Done/Enabled Today" daily times fly. I was trying to write the actual meeting, but that is HARD y'all, so here. Have some adorable protectiveness.   
Hopefully I'll still be around to finish these series. Hope you enjoyed


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Send help ;A;

** _And baked in a beautiful pie _ **

Surprisingly enough it’s not Rogers who starts the meeting. Once everyone is sitting, and it grinds on Tony’s nerves that they’ve decided to sit along their “respective” groups, T’Challa stands at the head of the table. On the right side, Cap sits with a solemn expression on his face as he stares at everyone in the room. Though he is trying to avoid him, sitting on the opposite side and most decisively _not_ on the other position of authority, Tony can feel his gaze on him. Natasha occupies the other side, staring impassively at the Wakandan monarch and her hands resting primly on the table. Tony notices Barton throwing suspicious looks at the tome on her left, but she ignores him. Rhodey sandwiches Tony and then there’s an empty space between him and Viz.

“Miss Romanov?” T’Challa asks and the woman shrugs.

“He said he’d be here,” she smiles one of her enigmatic smiles. “But he may have been, ah, detained.”

“I feel as though the Captain meant for _everyone _to be here,” the man said with an inclination of his head towards Rogers.

Tony frowned at Tasha, wondering who they were waiting for, but she merely raised an eyebrow at him and gave his hand a light squeeze. From the corner of his eye, he could see the hard clench of Barton’s jaw. He suppressed a sigh of annoyance. Sooner or later it felt like they would have to go to blows to get stick the archer had up his ass.

“The whole team is here, T’Challa,” Rogers said but there was a politely inquiring note to his tone. Tony refused to look at him still.

“Yes, well,” the man said enigmatically. Then he cleared his throat and, though he had been standing straight, seemed to grow taller. The mood in the room immediately became more alert. “While we wait for the last person to arrive, I would like to address a question that I am sure most of you are concerned about. Seeing as Sergeant Barnes can’t tell you himself, I would like to inform you all that he is well and in the process of being reanimated from his voluntary cryostasis.”

“Here and well,” Barton says and there is a note of derisiveness that makes the room at large a bit colder. Next to Tony, Rhodey’s whole frame goes tense. The mechanic turns to look at him, and when their eyes meet, he shakes his head slowly. from the corner of his eye he sees the angry furrow of Rogers’s brow as he stares at them and then cuts his eyes to the archer.

Before he can say anything, though, Sam bites off a “man, cut that shit out.”

The angry wind goes out of Hawkeye’s frame and he slumps back in his chair. Wanda immediately moves her hand to squeeze his under the table. If Tony wanted to be an asshole about the whole thing, he could insert a dirty joke there. Before, during the war, he might have done it, but the last few months have served to cure him of a lot of things. One of them being the compulsion to even attempt at a joke with people who hated his guts. Maybe he _had_ matured, at least a little bit, in the past few months.

“Yes, Barton, the medical team in charge of aiding his recuperation is already working to bring him about with the least amount of pain. The neurosurgeon has been _extensively _briefed on what will be needed to be done. Not to mention the fact that—“his eyes flit briefly to Tony and the man in question gives an almost imperceptible shake of his head, and the king sighs. “A bit of Doctor Banner’s research may be helpful make his recovery faster and safer.”

“Banner’s notes,” there’s heavy skepticism in Wanda’s voice, and Tony bites another angry retort back. The way things are going he feels as though he will soon be tasting blood. Natasha’s hand squeezes his and it isn’t until that moment that he notices that she’d had a hold of him the whole time. She gives him a look that begs him to be patient, and he can’t do nothing but slump back in his chair. They haven’t even been together for five minutes and he already feels as though this was one of the worst ideas he’s ever had. He created Ultron, that in and of itself says a lot.

“Yes, he was the resident bioengineer if I am not mistaken. His research and expertise was a bit more helpful than our other _consultant_,” Tony narrows his eyes at the monarch. Sneaky little shit. The others, thankfully, had never known much of what he did outside of the Avengers. The only ones, that he is one hundred percent sure, who had read his file were Tasha and the Captain. “For the time being I believe it will suffice for you to know that he is safe, in the process of starting his therapy and his process with the BARF, and is expected to make sufficient recovery.”

“The BARF,” the incredulity in the voice should annoy Tony, but he’s more surprised about the fact that it’s _Sam _that recognizes the name.

“Where is Bucky?” the Captain says in a quiet voice. If he were superman, Tony would have a perfect laser spearing through him at that moment. His stare is that intense.

“Secure,” Viz responds, and it is instantly clear that that is not the right answer to give.

“Like we were in that prison?” Wanda says, and despite the anger in her tone there is a note of hurt as well. Tony watches the toll it takes on the android.

“Like you were _here_,” he retorts and his eyes cut to the man sitting beside her. Clearly, he holds someone just as responsible for landing her in that cell. Tony doesn’t think he will ever grow tired of watching what little is left of JARVIS break through his impassiveness. _You did that_, the voice that is usually too quiet in his head says, _that is what you raised. What Ultron became wasn’t what you did. Look. Look look look look, Tony, J and Dummy and the others. _That_ is what you made. _

“He’s not in the compound,” Lang pipes up. The others turn to look at him and his cheeks go a bit red. “I couldn’t sleep so I went and took a look around. I’m sorry,” he tells Tony.

“It’s fine,” he says and surprises himself with how steady his voice is. “Anything I didn’t want you to see would be off limits to you. FRIDAY would have let you know, and if you didn’t listen, well,” he says with a smile. He can’t quiet keep the dangerous edge off it, and feels the tension spike in the others. He can’t even say he’s sorry.

“Sergeant Barnes is in a secure location north of this compound. I was made aware that there was a property there that was… available. He won’t be disturbed and will be in comfort to make a speedy recovery. The owner of the property was gracious enough to let us borrow his home,” Tony pretends he doesn’t know what the hell he’s talking about.

He almost thinks that the others are completely fooled until he chances a look at “their” side of the conference table and notices not only Rogers’s stunned expression but Sam’s as well. Barton and the Maximoff girl are too busy conferring with each other to notice, and Lang is just confused about the whole thing.

Before anyone can continue their interrogation, Tony catches sight of a mop of unruly brown hair through the glass door. He feels his whole body go cold as he gets a goofy grin in return. Before he can even think about it, before his synapses even spark, he’s on his feet and balling his fists on top of the table. He throws a look that is complete betrayal at T’Challa, and he knows it. He doesn’t give a shit, though, because just _no_. This is the most unacceptable thing he can think about. From the corner of his eye he can see Steve spring to his feet in alert, too, ready to figure out what could cause a reaction out of the genius when nobody else can.

“Hi, everyone!” Peter says cheerfully and the others can do nothing but gawk at him. His voice is unmistakable even if they’d all heard it before in a German airport.

“No,” and hey, it’s not Tony that bites it out. Rhodey gets to his feet with an effort, and Tony offers his arm without even thinking about it. They’d gotten used to supporting each other in the past few months. “You said this was a team meeting,” the venom in the statement is meant for the Captain.

“He is a member of this team,” T’Challa says before Rogers can respond.

“He’s a _kid_,” Tony almost growls at them. Peter ducks his head and scuffs at the floor with the point of his shoe. The mechanic makes sure his brother is steady on his feet before he moves towards his spider. He can feel his hands shaking, and he balls them into fists lest he show any of these people his weaknesses. “C’mon, Pete, you have nothing to do here.”

“You had no problem bringing him into a war,” Barton says, and the black eye he had given Tony on his first day back had hurt less.

“Believe me, Agent Barton, if I had known the dangers I would have kept him home. Hell, I thought I was meeting my _friends,_” Tony gives a laugh that sounds downright ugly to his own ears. “Had I known the truth, I would have prepared accordingly.”

“I want to stay,” Peter says quietly before the others can give him a reply. It kills Tony when he sounds like the actual kid he is. It makes him wish for a safe haven where he can stash him and all this utter _bullshit_ that he brought into his life doesn’t exist.

“You’re not an Avenger,” Tony says and it may sound harsh, but he hopes that Pete understands where he’s coming from. With everything that they have fucked up over the years, the last thing he wants is for the kid to become tangled up in that. The name Avengers leaves a sour taste on Tony’s mouth now, and he doesn’t want that for Peter. For any of the new kids, really. “You’re a sixteen year old kid who is supposed to be studying for a chemistry test, not… not being tangled in this bullshit.”

“Classy. So when things don’t go your way, they’re bullshit? Real mature, Stark,” Barton’s voice bites out from behind him. Tony turns around, thinking that diplomacy and keeping the peace be damned, but someone gets there faster.

“That’s more than enough out of you,” Cap brings a fist down on the table and the thing shudders even with the reinforcements Tony specified on every piece of furniture in the compound. They had the Hulk, all right, precautions seemed necessary. He’s not _paranoid, _he didn’t _anticipate_ them coming to blows, but here they are. “If all you want to do is pick another useless fight with a teammate, a _friend_, then keep your mouth shut.”

“He’s not my friend.”Clint says at the same time Tony bites out a contemptuous “You’re not my fucking friend.”

“I know,” Rogers says and there’s a hint of pain in his eyes. Tony doesn’t know who it’s directed at. “The whole point of this meeting is so that we can talk and at least try to patch this whole mess. The whole point of this is for us to try to get back to what we had.”

“What we had,” and Rhodey’s tone is subtly sarcastic, “doesn’t include Peter. He wasn’t part of the Avengers. He doesn’t need to be here. There’s no bad blood with him.”

“And I’ll make damn sure it stays that way,” Tony says and glares at Barton. The archer gives as good as he gets, but Tony keeps his ground. This is the one concession that Tony will not make. He can give anything of his to get his supposed team back, to keep the earth safe or whatever, but he will never sacrifice his kids to fucking do it. Harley, Peter, the Barton kids, Cassie, his _bots_… they’re the reason Tony fights to begin with. “Peter, you need to go.”

“No,” the boy says and when he turns around Tony can see the determined set to his jaw. “No, I _decided_ to be a part of this the moment you came to talk to me. I could have said no, and you would have left me alone. I could have chosen to stay normal when the spider bit me, Tony, before I even met you. I could have just pretended to still be normal, but I wanted to do something more. I told you,” his eyes are earnest as he looks at his mentor, and Tony rubs a hand to the phantom pain in his chest. “iWhen you do the things I can do… you have a bigger responsibility. I didn’t just come up with that, I _learned it_, and you’ve been helping me understand what that means these past few months. I’m already part of _your team_,” and nobody misses the implications of that statement, “I chose that months ago. I want to stay.”

“We’re just trying to keep you safe, Pete,” Rhodey said quietly.

“I _am_. I’m in the Avengers compound, guys! There’s nowhere I would be safer!” Tony bites his lip to keep from saying something that would destroy that particular illusion. From behind him, he can hear a quiet exhale, as if it had been punched out, and he immediately knows it came from Cap. “Tony, you gave me a choice with the Accords. You… you let choose, for better or worse, you gotta let me do it now.”

Tony stares into those earnest, open brown eyes, so much like his own, and feels as though he’s in free falling with no hopes of coming back. It’s not the fact that being together is slightly overwhelming, or the fact that so much seems to rest on this meeting, but on how young Peter actually is. Looking at him makes Tony feel like he’s staring at himself, way back when, and that here is a second chance for him, or someone like him, to finally turn out right. If there is anything he can do to lead this young, bright, utterly beautiful person away from all the mistakes Tony has made then he would do it. the more he looks at him, though, the more he realizes that he can do everything he can to keep Peter safe but it doesn’t mean anything if he doesn’t give the kid a _choice_.

Tony hasn’t had many choices his whole life. All his early years, Howard had decided. Mama had decided when he got to socialize, and what party to attend, and which people to befriend. Losing them both, and then Obie had taken over. Had given Tony the illusion that he was finally making his own choices, whether they were making some brand new weapon or stumbling out of the Ritz in his underwear and a party hat, but that was all it was. A mirage of choices. Then, the reactor that had saved his life and he hadn’t chosen to keep. If he’s been honest with himself, the only thing that he was ever truly chosen, consciously and wholeheartedly, has been Iron Man.

“Okay,” Tony reluctantly says. Peter grins at him, but the mechanic turns his eyes away. He begs whatever higher power doesn’t loath him that he can keep the kid safe.

He underestimates his spider, as always, because the kid doesn’t let him retreat. They’ve become experts, he and Peter, at disabling each other’s defensive mechanisms. Without warning, the kid rushes and gives him a solid squeeze. Tony chuckles quietly, and pats him on the back softly. “Harley called,” Peter says quietly, just for him, and the mechanic suppresses a groan. There is a full dress down in his future, and he knows it damn well.

“I’m sure we all have questions,” T’Challa continues with a smile thrown at their new member. Rhodey has moved to sit next to Viz, and he gives Peter a friendly squeeze as his eyes meet Tony’s. They’ve gotten good at the whole silent communication by now. By quiet agreement, they’ve both decided that any shit thrown at Peter will be handled by both of them. “Thank you for joining us, Spiderman.”

Peter blushes and looks down at his hands. Tony can see how tightly curled they are, and sighs at the kid. He already has too many self-defensive techniques that the mechanic really doesn’t like. Tony gives him a friendly shoulder bump, and the kid seems to take comfort in the gesture.

“You’re Spiderman,” Sam says with a stunned look on his face. Tony recalls him getting whooped around by the bug during their confrontation.

“But you’re just a baby!” Wanda says incredulously.

“I’m sixteen,” Peter says, and his tone is definitely colder. “I can make my own choices. Tony presented me with the accords, and I made a choice.”

“You decided signing your life away was the right choice?” Barton asks him, and the only reason Tony doesn’t lay on him then is because his tone is the softest it has been in his presence for months. He doesn’t feel like shattering the tenuous peace.

“I didn’t sign,” Peter says with a jut of his chin. He’s defying the archer to keep questioning.

Barton does the opposite. He throws his head back, and gives out a harsh laugh. “That’s fucking priceless. You put a collar around our throats, and won’t do the same for _your _people. Should have known.”

“Peter is a minor,” Tasha says and her voice is the same as always. Though her eyes are hard and angry and they don’t waver from Clint. It’s far more effective to pin the archer down like a bug than anything Tony could have thought up. “If you had read the original accords, then you would have known its jurisdiction didn’t extend to children unless,” she bites off when the man opens his mouth, “they decide to involve themselves in something that is far beyond them. Wanda chose her side, Clint, nobody forced her. She decided to join the team, she decided to go on missions, and she _chose_ to take that responsibility. Just like you decided to leave your family to fight another war.” That shuts him up pretty quick, and a haunted look crosses his face. Tony knows that Laura is seething with rage still, and wonders what the ultimatum was.

“But Peter chose to join you,” Sam says quietly, but thankfully there’s no accusation in his tone. Tasha acknowledges his question with a nod of her head.

“He was under my protection,” Tony says as he stares at the middle distance. It’s the only place he feels as though he is safe. “Nobody involved in the Accords, or the task forces, knew his identity. He was meant to come in, help bring you back so that I could convince you to sign, and go back to his life. He still had two years to make a choice.”

“And if his choice was not to sign?” Lang asks, just as subdued as Sam.

“Then he didn’t sign them,” Tony says simply.

“After what we went through for not doing the same you can’t expect us to believe it’d be that simple,” Rogers says. He sounds way out of his depth, and Tony is vindictively glad for it. It isn’t fair that it’s just him feeling like he’s swimming against the current.

“By then we would have had enough time for the amendments,” T’Challa says. The other side turns to look at him in confusion.

“That was the plan all along,” Tasha said ruefully. She nodded at T’Challa, and then a projection of the revisions popped up on the conference table. The name, the Edwin and Maria Protection for and from Super Powered Individuals Act popped up and pride threatened to burst Tony’s chest, seemed to catch most of the people around off guard.

“You fucking did it,” Peter said, and Tony couldn’t even be bothered to chastise him for the language. He was feeling way too much.

“What—“

“How—“

“Is that—“

“_Tony—“_

“The newly revised Sokovia Accords under whose protection you now are. This, right here,” T’Challa says as he quickly goes through the pages on it. “Is the whole reason you are back home. Some provisions stay the same, the punishments and the necessity of communication with every sovereign country you enter, but a lot of it has been changed. Things like Ross’s involvement, as well as people like him. The necessity of the Raft remains, but the process to get there is much more complicated now. We have given other enhanced individuals—“

“A second chance,” there’s a surprising amount of emotion on Lang’s voice. Tony makes a mental know to revise his file in more depth. “You gave them a way to redeem themselves.”

“It didn’t seem fair for us to be the only ones that got that option,” Tony tells him sincerely. There’s respect in the other man’s eyes when they meet his own. “We’ve fucked up too much to think that we have the moral high ground. I can’t, personally, believe that my choices are the best ones. I need a policing force, I need someone to be there to fight me when I need it, I need someone to keep me from making the same mistakes that I have in the past, and I think this could work. It’s what I wanted from the original Sokovia Accords,” his eyes meet T’Challa’s and there is something like pride in the other man’s gaze. Now that he’s started, Tony doesn’t think that he will be able to stop. All the anger, hurt, and accusation he’s been taking and hoarding for the past years seem to be making a cathartic exit. He feels like, more than wanting to tell the others this, he _needs_ to lest he does something stupid later on. Again. “It’s the whole reason I signed them despite my own reservations with them. Everyone thought that I didn’t have a problem with Ross spearheading the efforts, but I figured that it was best if I involved myself in the proceedings lest he try to twist them into something much worse than what they ended up.”

“What they ended up with was bad enough,” Wanda says and Tony’s jaw twitches with how hard it is for him to have her so near. He knows, _knows_, that exactly like Steve she hasn’t told the others anything about what happened in Sokovia. He doesn’t mean when Ultron attacked, but way before then. He feels the words about to burst from his lips, the accusations and the hate and bereavement for not only her but the whole lot of them, and has to bite his tongue so hard he finally tastes blood.

Once he has calmed his knee-jerk reaction enough, he meets her eyes and knows he can’t quite keep the contempt hidden. If Barton’s flare of protectiveness and anger is any indication he has done a very poor job, indeed. Tony doesn’t think he gives a shit about them at the moment. “Boy, if you think what we ended up with was bad,” and he laughs the little ugly laugh he’s become acquainted with so well in the last few months.

“What were they?” Sam asks, and there is something like anger in his tone. Tony doesn’t know him well enough to guess who it’s directed at.

“Carte blanche,” T’Challa responds and his fists close in spasmodic anger.

“Excuse me?” Rogers’s voice is horrified.

“What Ross presented me with at the beginning,” Tony says and Natasha coughs next to him though ironically the sound she makes sounds a lot like _threatened_. “Was a lot more dangerous than the draft that finally made it into your hands.” He doesn’t look at the Captain as he says it, but he doesn’t feel too bad about it. His eyes rest on T’Challa who stares back at him solemnly. “Not many of us saw those first… mandates, is what Ross liked to call them. There was no pretense, there, no leniency. The Raft would have been our option if we were _extremely_ lucky.”

“The UN wouldn’t have let that stand,” Barton says though he doesn’t sound so sure. Tony merely looks back at T’Challa with a raised eyebrow.

“It was already underway,” the King says, and sounds as though it pains him to admit. Tony doesn’t know if his father had been an advocate for those regulations as well. He hopes not, for the young man’s sake. “In the very early stages, General Ross had managed to throw enough of his influence on his plans that he had sufficient backing from many members of the UN. It wasn’t until opposition rose from sitting, and new members invited to speak, that him and his followers backed up from the harsher protocols they wanted to introduce. What you all saw was a hard won compromise to provide more opportunities to enhanced individuals. Not just punishment, but reintegration if the case were to come up someone having outside influence exerted over them,” here, T’Challa gave a pointed glance to two members of the group sitting around the conference table.

“What did you plan to do after?” Lang’s voice was nothing but curious. “You said what they saw was bad, but not as bad as it could have been. If those were the stakes, how were you planning to do better?”

“Tony had a contingency plan,” Natasha says seriously. Tony opens his mouth to contradict her, but she merely shoots him a glare and so he remains silent. “We started working on it the minute Ross came to give his pitch. Research, evidence, anything that could incriminate Ross was dug up no matter how hard he tried to hide it.”

“You knew,” Rogers’s voice sounds pained. Tony looks at him from under his lashes and sees the other man white-knuckling the arm rests of his chair.

“Of course she knew,” Rhodey snorts at him. “After Ultron, you honestly thought Tony went back, built Pepper a farm and then lived happily ever after? Come on, Captain, I thought you’d know your team better than that. Did you ever stop to think about how much attention the Maria Stark Foundation was getting after that screw up? How much they were doing? Not to mention the Fellowships and the MIT events? Relief and Recovery after Sokovia took time and effort. They didn’t want any of us, let alone the man everyone blamed for that destruction, to be involved in the clean-up. Someone with a bit of diplomatic experience to help.”

“No wonder the Stark Foundation has been everywhere since then. What was it? Trying to ease the guilt of creating a homicidal robot?” Barton says, and the tone of his voice is cruel.

Tony can do nothing but stare at the other man, the vindictive retorts swirling in his brain, but unable to say them out loud. More than the anger and the hurt, the mechanic thinks the most prominent thing is the disappointment. The disappointment of seeing the other man, the guy who was supposed to have his back, be so entrenched in his anger and recrimination that every opportunity to hurt him is welcomed with glee. Tony wants nothing more than to get up from his seat, declare the meeting useless, and no longer have to deal with their shit.

“You have no idea what the fuck you’re talking about,” Tony says quietly, and his eyes don’t drop from the other man’s.

“I know that you thought you fucking knew best, and isn’t that the cherry on top of this fucked up cake. You thought you knew best with Ultron, you thought you knew best with the Accords, and look where we are! You started us in this path! You led us down this fucked up chain of events and now the Avengers are nothing! Everything we worked so hard to build is gone because you had to prove you were so fucking clever! You had to prove that you were better than everyone else, you had to prove you knew best!”

“That’s bullshit!” Rhodey barks angrily in response. “You have no fucking clue what you’re talking about! Nobody forced you to do the things you’ve done, Clint!”

“Don’t come at me with that bullshit, Rhodes! Every time we get called out it’s because he’s found a way to fuck up! We could have solved this shit if he had bothered to talk to us, but no! Rich kid knows best, right? He’s so fucking smart, he’s such a fucking genius, so he can’t fucking admit when his head is so far up his ass that he can’t see what’s fucking right!”

“I made a mistake!” Tony all but roars, rising to his feet. His whole frame is shaking, he’s so fucking angry, but his eyes don’t waver from Clint’s. He is so done pussyfooting around their hatred for each other. He’s so done taking, and taking, and taking to make the others feel better. Taking Ross, taking the families of the people who died because of them, taking the UN, taking SHIELD, Pepper and every other fucking person who thought that because he was Iron Man he had no need for compassion. For just one day where things just. Stopped. Going. To. Fucking. Shit. And he had to fix it. “I made a fucking mistake, Clint, all right? Is that what you wanted to hear? Is that enough for you? _I fucked up_. And you know what, it wasn’t with Ultron. Thor told you all that I was right, and if I had never tried then Viz wouldn’t be here with us, so fuck you. _FUCK YOU_ if you think I’m going to apologize for that because I won’t. I lost JARVIS during that fiasco, you think you and the girl are only ones who lost something that day? Fuck you, I lost my _kid_. None of you thought much of J when he was around, he was just a computer program to you and I got that, but he was so much more for me. I created him, I taught him, and he learned from me every single day; I _raised _him until he became what he was. Ultron _killed my kid_, and if you fucking think that you’re the only who lost something that day, if you think that I’m going to apologize for being afraid, then you can shove your self-righteousness right up your ass!”

“So what? So what if you were scared! We’re a fucking team! You think you were the only one?!”

“You don’t know what I _saw!” _Tony screams, and the whole room goes eerily silent. The fight goes out of him and he slumps against the table. His shoulders sag with what feels like the weight of the world as he takes ragged breaths. His fingers itch to drum against a reactor that is no longer there. “You have no idea why I made Ultron. You were afraid, too, all of you. Natasha’s memories of the red room, Cap’s life before the tesseract, Bruce’s,” here, his voice breaks. “Bruce’s fear of losing himself into the Hulk. I get it, I get that you were all afraid after that, but I—I couldn’t help with that. I couldn’t change what had already happened to you all. You,” for the first time in what feels like forever Tony’s eyes meet Steve’s. “Were the only ones who could get over those fears. Other than Bruce, you wouldn’t have understood what it felt like to be shown something that could destroy everyone else, and know that it was your fault.”

“What did you show him?” Rogers’s voice is horrified. He’s looking steadily back at Tony with something like sorrow.

“I don’t—“Wanda starts

“Don’t—“Tony warns.

“What in the _hell _did you put into his head?!” Steve, because this isn’t Cap and Tony can’t pretend like he’s not invested into this conversation. The blond’s eyes tear away from his and his nose flares as he glares at Wanda. She stares back at him with wide eyes. “What the _fuck_ did you show him?” he bangs a fist on the table again, and the mechanic is honestly afraid the whole thing will collapse.

“Steve, that wasn’t her—“Barton starts.

“You best keep quiet,” Sam says, deadly serious. “You’ve had your moral high horse, Clint, but now it’s time for you to listen. You keep throwing accusations around like someone forced you to do the things that you have done. Nobody has, but yet you decided you were going to cast Tony as the villain here. We’ve all heard your side, we are more than aware of what you believe, but now it’s time for you to listen to someone else for a change.”

“You didn’t tell them?” Peter chimes in, and he sounds surprised. Tony had forgotten he was there, and feels angry at himself for losing it the way he was. Sound role model he was. The kid turns to Steve with a guarded expression. “Ultron wasn’t supposed to rule over the world or anything. I’ve seen the specs, and what he was meant to do was actually pretty amazing. I mean, protect over the earth so that people, heroes or civilians, didn’t have to die? That sounds pretty amazing. Tony hasn’t told me how he got corrupted, but we’ve talked about JARVIS a lot, and how FRIDAY is basically modeled after him.”

“Ultron was about control,” Rogers says, but he sounds confused. Like it’s a truth he’s held on to for a long time, but is no longer sure it’s actually right. Tony avoids his eyes so he doesn’t see the pain the accusation brings him. It’s a lot different thinking that the man you… cared for thought so little of you, than knowing those thoughts to actually be true.

Peter snorts at that derisively, and Tony cringes. He might have become a bit to tongue-loose around the kid when he was having bad days. Considering that bad days after Siberia had been pretty much _every day_, he may have overshared. He scrubs a hand over his face. “Ultron was supposed to keep the earth safe from big threats.”

“And what would those big threats be?” T’Challa asks, and for a moment Tony is surprised before he remembers that the young king hadn’t been around for that particular fuck up. Sometimes it feels like the young man has been around since the beginning of their ragtag team.

“The Chitauri,” Vision’s voice is calm as always. He is staring at Wanda as though seeing her for the first time, and Tony doesn’t want to think about what that means. He knows that a lot of J lives in the android, but he hadn’t thought that he’d remember those last few days between the HYDRA bunker and Ultron taking over.

Natasha and Rhodey’s sharp intake of breath are loud in the sudden stillness of the room. Tony hangs his head in shame. His constant fighting and losing with that particular nightmare is always fresh in his mind. He never seems to get over it, and it leaves him feeling weak.

“What did you show him?” Steve’s voice vibrates with anger.

“You were dead,” Wanda says softly before Tony can reply. Tony drops into his chair when his legs can’t hold him anymore. God. He wraps his arms around his middle. “All of you. You were… I don’t know where you were, but everyone he loved was dead. Even the big monster.”

“His name is Bruce,” Natasha spits out with contempt.

Wanda’s arms are wrapped around herself as if that will keep her together. Her fingertips flash red sparks in what everyone in the room recognizes as her nervous tick. “Bruce,” she acknowledges softly. “You were all dead, and Stark was the only one left. He—I don’t know how—I just—it was just him, and you, Captain.”

“Oh, God,” Steve says in a painful groan. Tony blinks at his eyes to get the stinging to go away.

“And he—you were dying, and he—you—he tried to—you said that it was his fault. You told him that he could have stopped it. If only—if—you told him he could have done more.” The sound of hard plastic snapping ricochets around the room like a gun shot. When everyone turns to look, nobody is really surprised to find the captain with the armrest of his char in his white-knuckled fist.

“It was you,” Rogers’s voice sounds downright dangerous.

“It wasn’t her fault, Steve,” Barton’s voice holds a tinge of pleading in it.

“You heard what we did, right?” Sam chimes in incredulously. “You are aware of what she just said? Call me crazy, but from what I know, this whole you all blamed Tony for what happened in Sokovia. Even when Thor came back, even when Viz was created, you still held him responsible. Now she’s telling you that it wasn’t all on him, and you still refuse to accept that you were wrong!”

“She’s just a kid! You said it yourself, Cap. She and her brother were just kids. Von Strucker was manipulating them! You can’t fault them for that!”

“Bullshit!” Steve snarls at him and Barton seems to be too stunned to come up with a reply. In fact, nobody thinks to even bring up the “language” joke or call him a hypocrite. Nobody has ever seen the Captain this worked up. _You just haven’t seen it yet, _Tony thinks hysterically about bad sides and secrets and a whole lot of darkness kept just under the surface. “She hated him, we all knew that! Him, specifically, though I’m pretty sure bringing us all down would have been just as fun. And we all forgave her for that. We all understood, but it’s been _years_ since that happened! It has been long enough for her to tell us the truth! You,” he hisses at Wanda and she drops her head in shame. “You let us crucify him for something that was already killing him inside! You let us believe that Ultron was a product of his arrogance! For years, Ultron colored our perception of what he was!”

“Spare me the hypocrisy,” Tony says incredulously before Wanda or Barton can make a case for themselves. Steve turns red rimmed eyes towards him. Tony’s anger makes him cruel. “You can pretend you give a shit about me or my _feelings_,” Tony seethes. “When we’re in a room full of _your_ friends, but don’t for a second think I believe you. You _let_ what she said stand as truth rather than trust _me_ because you didn’t give a fuck!”

“Every time I start to think you may not be an arrogant bastard you prove me wrong, Stark,” Barton says because of course.

“Look, asshole—“

“He’s right,” Steve says, but before Rhodey can puff up even more in anger, he directs his eyes to Hawkeye and pins him with an intense stare. “I have no right to act like I’m somehow better than you. Not after what I did.”

“Steve—“Sam starts, but the Captain shakes his head.

“Bucky killed Tony’s parents,” Steve says without preamble, and then sags against the table. Tony feels like he can’t breathe. “I knew since—“the Captain’s next breath hitches. “I knew since the incident in the Triskellion and I didn’t tell him. I—I thought—I didn’t want him to know. I thought I was protecting them both, but I—_Tony_,” the man all but begs. Tony can’t tear his eyes away, though he feels numb. “I was wrong. I may not have lied, but I wasn’t truthful either. I should have told you. I am—I was your friend, and I kept something so important for you. I can’t—I should have—I’m _so sorry.”_

“When did you tell him?” Sam asks in horror.

“I didn’t,” the Captain says and he looks sick. “I didn’t tell him, and that’s on me. In Siberia—“

“_Steve_—“Tony chokes out.

“No,” Tasha says, and she looks just as shaken as the captain does.

“In Siberia, Tony tried to help us. He was there to help bring Zemo in, but I—he had a video.”

“Mission report: December 16th 1991,” Tony says in a whisper. He doesn’t think he’ll ever forget the words.

“Zemo had the video of the night the Starks died,” Steve’s eyes meet his. “The day Bucky killed them. I guess—I think—he was trying to use those words to snap Buck’s control. He wanted to prove that there was no more James Buchanan Barnes. That it was just the Winter Soldier. I—it was the first time Tony knew about it.”

“So he didn’t have time to process,” Sam said and there was a hard note to his voice. “You took that from him, too.”

“All the bullshit about keeping things from the team. All the anger you had, and look at you. Tony,” Tasha says and she sounds pained. “Tony, look at me,” she grabs a hold of his hand and he doesn’t have a choice but to look at her. Her eyes shine. “I’m so sorry. I should have told you. I should have let you know as soon as we dumped those files. I’m sorry I failed you. I thought _he_” she spits out, “was the adequate person to tell you. To help you—I don’t know, process. I’m sorry, Tony.”

“It’s okay,” Tony croaks out, mostly out of habit, and Tasha smiles sadly at him.

“It’s not, дорогой,” she says just as softly. Her thumb makes soft sweeps across his knuckles.

“Why?” Tony asks quietly. It’s the only question that has been bouncing around his head for months. There are days when the need to know chokes him. Days when he wants to drown himself in booze so the curiosity doesn’t drive him mad. There are days when his anxiety attacks get worse and worse because he’s so caught up in that question. _Why didn’t you tell me? Why did you keep it from me? Why didn’t you trust me? Why didn’t you believe me? Why did you pick wanda over me? Why did you chose him? Why did you leave me? Why why why why… _“I just—I don’t understand,” he says softly.

“Why what, Tony?” Steve asks just as quietly. He’s ducking his head so he can meet Tony’s eyes, but the mechanic doesn’t have the strength to look at him and deal with his emotions at the same time. He fears they’ll have another repeat of Siberia if he does.

“I think this meeting can be adjourned now,” T’Challa says quietly. When Steve opens his mouth to argue, he raises a hand. “It seems what you and Anthony have to discuss is far too personal and involving no more than the two of you. It is time we retire, and let you speak with each other.”

“Like hell!” Rhodey and Peter say at the same time. The others had begun to get up from their seat, though Sam remained resolutely in his, but then they pause and look at the others apprehensively.

“If you think we’re leaving him alone after what _he_” Peter jabs a finger at the Captain and any trace of hero worship is gone, “did to him then you’re nuts!”

“Pete,” the mechanic says tiredly. God, the throbbing in the back of his head is killing him, but he feels like he needs to do this. He thinks that their conversation is long overdue. If tony’ heart has to be shattered, completely, its best they get it over with. Whatever explanations Rogers has will never be enough, but Tony is not the same type of asshole he is. Tony can listen, if only because nobody gives him the same curtesy when he needs it. “Please go with the others.”

“Tone—“

“No, Tony—“

“_Sir_—“Viz blurts out. Tony stares back at him with a small smirk. Seeing JARVIS shine through every once in a while puts a smile on his face every time.

“He’ll be fine,” Tasha says though she’s staring at Steve. There’s a warning on her face. “Tony knows what he needs. It’s about time we start realizing that.”

“But—“Pete starts, and Tony can’t help but yank him into a hug.

“Go,” he says into the mop hair. “It’s fine. Thank you, though.”

“Fine, but—“

“FRIDAY will know what to do,” Tony reassures him while looking at Steve.

They stare at each other with an intensity that hasn’t been there in months. As the others file out, Tony takes stock of the other man. He looks as tired as Tony feels, and there’s an unhealthy hollowness to his cheek. The stubble on his chin is surprising. His hair is also longer than Tony remembers. His blue eyes are stormy, but they roam all over Tony’s face as if starving for the sight. The mechanic can admit to himself that he has missed him terribly, like the hollow space between his ribs of something that should have been there but wasn’t.

_Please, God,_ Tony thinks when they’re finally alone. _Please._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, non-beta'd so. you know. plenty of errors, most likely.


	7. Chapter 7

By the time the others are gone, it’s only Natasha and the king that remain. Tony thinks that maybe they’ve thought better about what happened in Siberia and will stay to moderate. He’s hoping that is the case because his mind is honestly in so much disarray that he doesn’t think he’ll be able to control most of his instinctual reactions. That illusion is shattered when the woman by his side raises elegantly to her feet. Tasha presses a kiss to his temple as she walks out of the room, her hand strong and steady on his shoulder, and without even looking he knows that she’s giving the Captain one of those _looks_. T’Challa claps Rogers on the back and then crosses the room to where Tony is still sitting and gives him a reassuring squeeze to his shoulder.

Rogers’s eyes are still locked on his, though they flitter briefly to the side when the sound of the doors opening and closing breaks the silence in the room, and then they’re right back to where they started. Tony wishes that he could drop his eyes, or that he could fidget with the seam of his shirt, but the part of his brain that hates showing weaknesses is screaming loudly at him to front. That voice sounds far too much like Howard Stark, and he hates that he still listens to it. He hates it even more than it’s become louder in the past few months; and absolutely loathes that the voice he’d fought so hard for, the one that insists that he’s doing some good in the world, has become as afraid as a younger Tony was of his father. He clenches his fists on top of thighs in an effort to not rub at the throbbing on his temples, and grits his teeth.

The tension in the room escalates steadily the longer the silence goes on. Tony bites his lip in an effort to keep from saying something. The urge to bolt is strong, but despite Cap having the reputation of never backing out of a fight Tony has the reputation of throwing himself head first into a struggle. Consequences be damned. They’ve been skirting around the bit fucking gap in their acquaintance for close to a month. Tony has kept his mouth shut against all the accusations he wants to scream at the blond. Starting with _what fucking team were you talking about?_

“So are we just going to stare into each other’s eyes for the rest of the day or are you actually going to talk, Rogers? You know, contrary to what you and your merry men think I _do _actually work for a living,” Tony gives Steve a smile that is purely condescending.

_Pretty sure the Captain meant for this meeting to at least be a little civil, _the guilty part of Tony whispers at him. _Fuck what he wants!_ The bitter part snaps back. Tony suppresses the urge to giggle nervously. Maybe he should talk to a professional about these boxes he has in his head, you know, in case he steps out of the “eccentric” and into the “raving lunatic” category.

“I know you do, Tony,” the Captain says in tone that is much softer than what Tony was expecting. He half thought they were going to start a screaming match right then and there. That’s how it had always gone before, anyway. “And if you’re busy then we could have this discussion later. I don’t want to inconvenience you—“

Tony interrupts him with a snort and an incredulous stare. “You’ve missed the mark on _inconveniencing me_ by a few months, Rogers. And I’d rather get this over with now than keep dragging our bullshit along. Can’t have the leader of the team distracted when he’s supposed to lead. God knows how they’ll be able to blame me for that, too.”

“Have they told you something?” Rogers asks, and there’s a concerned dip between his eyebrows. It’s almost like he _cares_. Tony sneers at him, but the man bulldozes forward. “If they’ve somehow made you feel culpable for the way I’ve been acting lately—“

“You’ll what? Give them a ‘stern talking to’? ‘Bench them’ or give them a little time out or something? So they can’t keep stowing the resentment? Yeah, no thanks,” Tony sighs and gets to his feet. He should have known once he was alone with Rogers that his anger would get the best of him. He’s trying to rush this, he knows, trying to make like a band-aid and rip it off to deal with the sting. He should have known better, though, that he’s got far too much practice with stowing his feelings and blowing up when it’s far too late.

Maybe if he had used the stupid anachronism that was the flip phone when he didn’t have to deal with Cap being _there_ and the desire to _touch _him. To grab him by the shoulders and shake him and demand to know _why_. Why did he decide to trust the witch over him, why did he decide Tony was worth so little, why did he pick Barnes over the team, _the family_, they had created; why he decided to keep something so important from him. Maybe if he’d used the phone, maybe if he had gone away from the compound, maybe if Rogers had told him _three years ago_ about what had really happened to his parents, maybe if both of them had listened to each other rather than entrench themselves on their own stubborn opinions… just, maybe it’s too many maybes for them. Perhaps it’s best to let those demons lie.

“Look, Captain,” Tony says and pinches the bridge of his nose. He can’t do this, he decides. He’s not this strong, and he can’t even pretend to be this strong. “How ‘bout I say _I’m sorry_ for trying to kill your boyfriend and putting your friends in a super secured prison and call it a day, huh? I was _wrong_, I should have listened, I shouldn’t have kept _secrets_,” Tony spits out and Rogers take a step back as if he had sucker punched him. _“I’m sorry_, all right. There you go. We had a conversation. Have a nice life.”

Because Tony is still rooted to the spot despite the dismissive note to his words he notices the determined jutting of the Captain’s jaw. The man takes purposeful strides towards Tony, and the mechanic forces himself to stand his ground. His heart hammers in his chest, and because of the way his breath stutters he knows he’s seconds away from being thrown into an attack. Panic claws its way into his throat and his mouth goes dry. The familiar sensation of extremis reacting to his flight or fight response prickles at the back of his mind, and he curses himself for trashing the suits he’d had in the compound. They’re in ‘storage’ now, which means they’re at the tower to be used under Rhodey’s discretion. After their first week, and the stupidly ill advised ‘joy ride’ Tony had taken which resulted in a trashed workshop and half an acre of woods charred, the mechanic had thought it’d be best if he stepped away from the armor for a while. More often than not the suit feels more like a curse these days. And it sucks, it bites and tears at Tony to have his second chance, bought in blood by a man too good for such a cruel world, taken away. But every time he’d looked at the scars on the armor he’d been back in that bunker, every time he stepped inside his cocoon he’d heard the whirring of a metal arm and the hollow sound of a vibranium shield; every time he’d looked at the HUD screen all he’d seen was what was meant to be a familiar arc-reactor blue that sent his panic spiking. 

He’s so lost in his own mind for a while there that he completely misses what Rogers does. It isn’t until there are steady fingers taking hold on his trembling hands that Tony realizes what’s happening. When he’s able to look past the hazy fog of his panic he feels his jaw drop. He’d missed his chance to scramble backwards or even call for FRIDAY as the Captain got closer, Tony braces himself for an impact that never comes. Instead, there’s the sound of a hard surface smacking denim-clad bone but of the familiar feel of knuckles to his face. Instead, when Tony finally _focuses_, he finds Rogers on his knees in front of him. A haunted look in his eyes, and his fingers steady as they hold Tony’s.

“What the fuck—“Tony breathes out.

Roge—_fuck it_, Tony is horrible at lying to himself. His attempts at distancing himself from the lot of them failed the minute they picked different camps. If Tony had been stronger he would have brought them in without a second thought. If Tony had been stronger, he would have never sold himself to Ross and the others to keep them safe. If Tony had been stronger, Barnes wouldn’t be in the Stark mansion using his _tech_ to earn back his memories. Tony has failed, from the very first moment, at distancing himself from people he loves. And the main reason why is now on his knees in front of him. So, yeah, _Steve._

“I don’t know what else to do, Tony,” Steve’s eyes are bright and earnest as they look up into Tony’s. “I have no illusions that this is enough, but I wanted to show you how sorry I am. If this is the only chance I have to begging for forgiveness from you, then I want to do it right. Tony, I failed you. Not just with Bucky, I—“the Captain’s breath hitches as he stares up at Tony.

_He’s crying, _Tony thinks. It feels so _wrong_ to see the blond so defeated. Now that they’re this close, Tony can see the deep circles under his eyes and how unkempt his hair is. He can see the way the other man is grinding his teeth, and the flush of shame across his cheeks and tinging the tops of his ears. _Who are you?_ Tony thinks, and it hurts so deeply that he even has that doubt. That this Steve, the Steve that used to talk Tony down from the metaphorical ledge when he had a night terror, the Steve that used to play fetch with DUM-E, the Steve that used to sit by him and hand him tools as he babbled about his bike, the Steve that would sit by and sketch while Tony got lost in schematics, the Steve that would chuckle wearily though no less fondly when he called up the tower and listened to Tony go on about how _good_ the shwarma they’d ordered was… the Steve that was part of all those small snapshots Tony held so dear, so coveted, it was crushing to see that Steve and have him be so overshadowed by the Captain and the shield that had been imbedded in his chest.

“I’ve been failing you for so long, Tony. I was your captain, I was your teammate, and I didn’t trust you. I didn’t see that you needed us just as much as we needed you. You gave us… Tony, you gave _me_ a home when I thought I had nothing left. More than your teammate, I _was your friend_, and I hurt you. I will never be done atoning for what I did.” Steve shook his head, and the hold on the mechanic’s fingers tightened. “If this is the last shot I have, then I want you to know that I will never be able to tell you how damn sorry I am for how I hurt you. What I said in that letter still, and will _always_ stand, Tony.”

“Get up,” Tony croaked out and he could feel the stinging in his eyes. His chest felt like it was wide open, and he didn’t care. He didn’t care that he’d be left alone to pick up the pieces of himself that Steve was shattering because here, _here_, was a shot at not having the same regrets about the Captain as he did about his father. His whole life since their passing, Tony had wished for a shot to tell them the truth. That they had shattered and damaged him beyond help; that every word Howard said in derision for his only son had left a mark far deeper than the signet ring that had hit Tony in more than one occasion. He’d wanted, for years, to tell his mother that kissing the places Howard had hit in hopes of making things better had never helped. Tony had too many regret, his parents, Obie, Ty, Pepper… _Yinsen_. Tony had too much pain lodged in to let Steve add any more.

He ripped his hand away from the Captain and wrapped his arms around himself. He glared down at him, the sympathy he’d felt before evaporating and leaving him desolately cold. 

The captain got to his feet slowly, his eyes never leaving Tony’s, but rather searching for something. Tony didn’t know what he found there, but his face immediately went paler. The mechanic was far too angry to care. He grabbed at Steve’s shirt with both hands and finally, _finally_, shook him with as much rancor as he wanted thought his hands were shaking. “You’re so full of shit. What, you think you could act repentant and I’d forgive you? Poor little rich boy Tony just needs some attention! Poor little brat is such an idiot! Poor _bastard_ will take you back no matter how many times you stab him in the back?!” Tony’s voice was climbing in time with his mounting indignation. _How dare he_.

Steve stood stock still, eyes wide and wet, as he shook his head at the brunette. “No, Tony, no, i—“

“Well fuck you!” Tony screamed, shaking him again. “Fuck you, and your fucking team! That letter was a _joke!_ The Avengers are mine?! Which Avengers?! The android that spent his whole fucking existence pining over someone without knowing how to deal with the emotional turmoil that heartbreak is?! The kid who wanted so _desperately _to help, but whom I couldn’t look in the eye because I _knew_ I almost got him killed?! The king who lied, _to my face every single day_, while he hid you all away?! Or, better yet, my _brother_ whom I had to watch struggle to take a simple step every day? The man I had to be strong for because you took _everything_? The spy that betrayed me?! Tell me!” Tony cried, his whole frame shaking and with no more care for the tears rolling down his cheeks. “_What did you leave me!? TELL ME, YOU SON OF A BITCH. WHAT DID I GET WHEN YOU TOOK MY FAMILY?!”_

Steve’s whole expression broke at that. His hands, shaking, moved to grasp at Tony’s wrists. If Tony weren’t so emotionally fucked up at the moment he would have found it strange that despite the fact they had literally almost killed each other, Steve holding onto him didn’t set the warning bells ringing this time. Or maybe it was the fact that the other man looked like the only thing tethering him was the hold he had on the mechanic. “I didn’t—“

Tony shoved him away, weakly because he was shaking so bad, and tried to glare through the tears. God, he was exhausted. Yet he couldn’t _stop_. Something had snapped, and now everything was spilling out. He vaguely wondered if there would be anything left when they were done with each other. Steve’s pale face suggested that the answer will most likely be a resounding _no._

“You—what you did,” Tony rasped out. “You took more than the team. You—I trusted you. Even knowing better, I _trusted _you. I left myself wide open for you, all of you, and at the first sign of trouble you turned on me. You turned on me for someone that had tried to destroy us. I should have known,” Tony bemoaned raising a shaking hand to rub at his forehead. “I should have known that you all would be just like everyone else. Ty, Obie, everyone else who’d taught me better, and I _fell for you_. I fell for all the bullshit you gave me. Just like—“

“I’m not like Stane,” Steve said weakly. Like he was pleading with Tony to deny it. Like it was the absolutely worst insult Tony could have given him. The memory seems to assault them both.

_He took it, _Tony had said as he tinkered with a schematic in the workshop. His hands fidgeting with everything in sight, and his eyes refusing to meet Steve’s. _He used my own tech, paralyzed me, and took it right out of my chest. The worst—the worst part was looking at him and thinking, but you’re my Uncle Obie. I loved you, you helped raised me, why do you hate me? What is wrong with me? _Tony’s hands had been shaking.

_There’s nothing wrong with you, _Steve had said. His eyes had looked so sincere. His strong fingers grabbing hold of his wrist and brushing tenderly against his pulse point. _He was a bastard, and he hurt you. It wasn’t your fault, Tony. I’ll never let anyone take it from you again. _

“You promised,” Tony whispered and whatever control Steve had left in him broke. He shook his head, clearly remembering the same thing, and began to gasp for breath. “You promised me nobody else would take it again, and at the first opportunity, God,” Tony chuckled darkly. “You destroyed it.” his fingers beat an incessant pattern on his chest.

“I’m sorry,” the words sounded like they were punched out of him. “God, Tony, I don’t have words for what I did. I thought I was protecting Bucky, I thought I was protecting _us_, and I should have—I knew, in the back of my mind, that you were trying to help. I knew that I should have stopped and listened, but you—_Tony_,” he said desperately. “Of all the things I’ve done the biggest regret I have is leaving you in that bunker.”

“Why?” Tony asked quietly.

“Why—Tony,” and this time it sounded more like a whimper. “I left you there. I _hurt _you, I broke the reactor _knowing_ how much it meant to you, and I _left you_. What do you mean why?”

“I’m not Bucky,” Tony said, and Steve reared back. The mechanic tilted his head to the side, mind running a mile a minute as he focused on the other man. “I think I see it now.”

“See what?” Steve asked. His eyes were wide, pupils blown, as he searched desperately for an indication of what Tony was thinking. The brunette was numb, though, as the one realization he had been shying away from the whole time finally came into clear focus.

“Until the end of the line,” Tony said and watched, as if in slow motion, as those words sank into Steve and seemed to detonate. Already, the captain was shaking his head. “I didn’t—I should have known. You never promised me that, you never said that you’d _be there_ for me no matter what, and I—I didn’t mind, I guess. Any—anything you all gave me, I figured it was enough, but,” Tony chuckled quietly. He felt like laughing, really, as the realization made itself a home in his heart. _You idiotic boy,_ Howard smirked at him. “You—you would have died. For any of them.”

“Yes,” Steve said quietly. Shattered.

“All of them, even Wanda, except me.” Tony shook his head with finality and took a step back. “I didn’t understand why you wouldn’t listen to me. I tried—the pens. Remember? When I tried to get you to sign the accords? Roosevelt’s pens. I hunted down for them. God, I was so focused—so—so _desperate_ to help myself find a way back to you. I would have taken anything, but you wouldn’t even give me the curtesy of listening to what I had to say. I didn’t understand why at the time, but now I do. I’m sorry, Steve,” Tony said sincerely as everything seemed to shut down. “It was my fault for thinking I mattered to you as much as they do.”

Tony dropped his gaze from the Captain and made his way to the door. There was a weird sense of peace inside him despite the fact that every breath felt like a struggle. This whole time he’d been tossing and turning wondering what he could have possibly done to deserve the contempt the others had shown him. He had turned things over and over in his head, in the BARF, trying to change his actions to get a better reaction. He’d sat entire nights nursing his scotch and shooting theories at an increasingly worried FRIDAY about what he could have possibly done to keep the team, the people he’d considered his _family_, from leaving him. Knowing that it had nothing to do with what he had _done_, but simply because of who he _was_, brought a certain type of depressing peace. In the end there was nothing he could have done to keep the others around. They were going to leave him eventually. The only thing Tony had done wrong was become complacent, like with Pepper, while they were still around. All he had done wrong is believe that they’d find him worthy despite the overwhelming evidence to the contrary.

“Like hell,” Steve’s angry voice snapped him back to the present, and then there were hands on his shoulders. The blond’s chest was heaving with each breath he took, and his eyes had that steely look about them Tony had seen in the bunker. This was the look of the Brooklyn kid that taunted, with a cocky smirk on his bleeding lips, that _he could do this all day. _“”Be angry,” Steve hissed at him, shaking him. “Scream at me, be angry, be hurt, be indignant; hell, Tony, call the suits and _beat me to a pulp_. But don’t you ever, _ever_, think that you somehow deserved what I did.” Steve’s eyes were so dark, Tony thought, intense. Big, broad hands cradled his face. “I need you to listen to me, Tony, because somewhere along the way I failed you _again_. I kept secrets from,” Tony screwed up his face as the pain flared in his chest. “Shh, shh, listen. I kept things from you and I was _wrong_. I never meant to hurt you, that’s true, I thought I was protecting you. It’s a bold faced lie that I told myself, every day I saw you and stood by you and brought you lunch and enjoyed your company, every day I was lying to both of us. I told you that I trusted you, I thought I did, but the whole time I kept thinking back to that dossier I had of you at the beginning and I never gave you enough credit. Then Sokovia happened,” Steve shook his head.

“I get it,” Tony said quietly. He tried to push the other man away, but Steve stayed resolute. He shook his head fiercely. “I confirmed everything you ever thought about me to be true. I _murdered_ those people.” The phantom feel of dripping blood assaulted Tony, _the merchant of death,_ and he had to swallow hard at the impulse of rubbing his hands free of it. God knows it wouldn’t help at all, though.

“I thought so too,” Steve said with a look of introspection.

_I knew it, I knew it, I knew it, I knew it, _Tony’s bitter mind chanted. A sob built up in his throat. How many ways can one be possibly broken before there’s nothing left? Hearing the confirmation of his worst fears is managing to incinerate him.

“But I was wrong. Even when Thor came back, and confirmed that you had been right, I was still so angry at you. I was so angry that you and Bruce had gone behind our backs to make Ultron, and God I was such a hypocrite. I was so angry that despite everything we’d been through you _still didn’t trust me_.” The soldier’s hands shake him.

_Why the fuck would I? Why the fuck would I trust you with anything? I was dying inside, and none of you cared to look!_ It isn’t until he feels the hands squeezing his wrists that Tony realizes that he’d screamed all of that out loud. Steve is nodding to him, though, the determined expression still resolutely on his face.

“You were right, Tony,” Steve says and somehow, though it’s what he’s always wanted, the confirmation leaves him feeling bereft. “You were right not to trust us. WE—no, _I betrayed you_. Long before the accords, long before Siberia, long before Ross, Tony. I was supposed to be your friend and I let you down, and if there’s anything that these past months has taught me—“the sob finally breaks free of the captain’s throat. “Tony, if there’s anything I’ve learned in these past few months is that I don’t know who I am if I don’t have you there to be my foil. You—you mean so much to me. I was so stupid for not realizing it sooner, and I failed you. And you were right,” another shake and Tony feels like he’s floating. His brain isn’t connecting the words. It’s—he must have blacked out in the workshop again. There’s no way that this is _real_. It’s just another day with the BARF.

“No, Tony,” and his voice is so infinitely sad. Tony can merely stare at the devastated look in the other man’s face. The look that says, _Tony is not connecting this. He’s not believing anything. He can’t. _It seems to hurt the captain more than any words Tony could say. “No, you’re not—God, that I even made you—“one of his hands is brought up to the other man’s chest. He feels solid. Real. “Tony, I never told you that I’d be there with you until the end of the line because that’s not how you and I work, and I’m so sorry it took me this long to realize it. There’s no ‘until the end of the line with you’ because there is _nothing_ without you, Tony. It took us going at each other’s throat for me to realize that you, Tony,” the hands are back on his face. Steve’s thumbs trace the curve of his cheek gently, coaxing him to meet his eyes, and Tony wants to look away.

_Don’t_, something in Tony pleads desperately. _Don’t trust him again. Don’t let him. Don’t be stupid. You won’t survive it again, Tony_. And he wants to listen, dear God does he want to, but his heart. his battered, stupid, treacherous heart won’t let him. Steve looks so fucking sincere. Looks just as broken and tired and _desperate_ as Tony has been feeling the past few months and he wants to. He wants to believe that there is away Steve means what he’s saying. That there’s a way, in this universe, where Howard, and Obie and Ty were _wrong. _Does it make him the biggest sucker in the world to wish for that?

“Tony, you are—you’ve been the best friend I’ve had since… well, maybe ever,” Steve whispers like it’s some frail truth he doesn’t want to shatter. Doesn’t want to soil with the weight of their mistakes.

_I can’t believe you_, Tony thinks desperately. His eyes roam all over the other man’s face, God they’re so fucking close, and wishes for any type of sign that he’s lying. For any way to know that this is another lie. That this is another trick to play him, poor sucker that he is, but he can’t find any. All he can see is those fucking eyes, the first thing he noticed about the soldier, so wide open and earnest. _I could hurt you, _Tony realizes then. He may be raw and brittle and just as wide open as the captain, but now he’s got the upper hand. He’s been _let in_, something he’d wished for desperately through the whole of their acquaintance, and now that he has it… it’s so frail. This delicate, vulnerable thing Steve has given him.

_I could destroy you, _the knowledge is staggering. 

_Do it, _the ghost of metallic blue eyes looks onto him with amusement. _Prove us right. C’mon, sweetheart, he deserves it, right? He hurt you so now you get to hurt him. _

Tony shakes his head, trying to clear himself of the memory, but the dirty feeling of their laugh still covers him like a blanket. He could do it. he could destroy Steve Rogers so that nobody else has him. So that they’re even. So that he feels what it’s like to have the best thing in his life snatched away from him. He _could_ do it. An overwhelming part of himself feels like it’s his _right. _

But one look at the solider takes the wind right out of him. There’s desperation replacing the determination he’d had. The increasingly tight grip he has on Tony’s face, as though he’s afraid that he’ll dissipate as soon as he lets go, is something the mechanic is intimately familiar with. Steve looks tired, so _done_, and maybe that’s what does it. The knowledge that they are _similar. _The knowledge that, if Tony chooses the path of revenge, it’d destroy them both. And the truth is, Tony doesn’t want to do that.

_You’re a better man that what your father became, Tony, _Steve had been laying on his back on the penthouse deck. His hair shone in the sunlight. _And I don’t just mean the things you’ve managed to make, but just… damn, Tony, is the world wrong about you. _

Here’s Tony’s chance to prove it to himself, and, well. He’s a futurist. Despite his front of being a realist, Tony has always been nothing short of a hopeless optimist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know, is Tony completely OOC? Was i projecting hella hard? Probably, but fuck it lmao. I take complete authorship liberties right now.   
Also, Steve is... Damn it, boy. The work you're going to have to put in in a minute.   
Someone give Tony a blanket and a hug, please. Honestly. 
> 
> (On a side note, I have lost all hopes in the United States of America. It was a nice run.)


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some things can never be forgotten, but forgiving them? That's... well, that's not easy, but it's doable. especially if they're wanted so much by both.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had a shitty couple months. and a horrible writer's block, but! I finally finished this chapter. Hopefull y'all won't have to wait too long for the next. For those of you out there still reading... Thank you for being one of the truly great things I sorely need at the moment. Enjoy!

It feels as though they’re standing there together for an eternity. Steve is still cradling his face between his palms, his thumbs gentle on his cheeks, and Tony can feel himself starting to give in. Part of him, the part that is still seething with hatred and heartbreak, demands that he pull away. That he don’t allow Steve to… to… manipulate him as easily as he had in the past.

Tony closes his eyes, trying his best to force himself to force himself away from the blond, but then Steve’s thumb brushes against his lower lip. The sense of _want_ hits Tony so hard that his knees threaten to buckle. He wants to _take_. He wants to give in to this, whatever it may be, that he’d begun to realize somewhere between the last few months they spent at the compound and that last blow to his arc reactor. He realizes how messed up that is.

“Tony,” Steve whispers and he’s so close Tony can feel his breath tickling his nose.

“I can’t do this,” the engineer says, almost inaudibly, eyes still closed. Steve’s whole frame jerks like he’s been shocked with a strong current, and his hands drop from Tony’s face as if he’s been burned. Tony’s eyes spring open and he catches the devastated look on the soldier’s face. It chips at the fragile part of his heart that Tony has tried to keep hidden. “No, no,” he says quickly and makes a desperate swipe to grab the blond’s wrist.

“Don’t,” Steve tells him pleadingly. His attempt at making Tony let go of his wrist is feeble at best. He’s avoiding looking at the engineer, and the brunette is afraid he’s going to bite right through his lip. “I understand, Tony. It’s fine. I just—I—I just wanted you to know that—“

“Fuck your sorries,” Tony says heatedly. Steve gives a pathetic little nod, and though he’s trying to turn away from him, the brunette still catches sight of the single tear that rolls down his perfect cheek. He takes a breath that shutters in his chest, and it’s clear that he’s trying his best to keep himself in check, but he still doesn’t try very hard to break Tony’s hold. _He’s desperate_, Tony realizes the more the blond pretends to struggle. It’s an emotion the engineer is intimately familiar with. “Fuck your sorries, I don’t care about them. Steve,” Tony says pleadingly and takes the blond’s face in his hand. Steve closes his eyes and then blinks up at the ceiling. “Look at me,” the brunette says quietly. “I don’t care about your sorries or the stupid letter you sent me—“

“God, I was an idiot,” Steve says self-deprecatingly.

“Yeah, but the thing is, Steve. I—look, I’m not—I’m not _good_—“

“But you are, Tony, you’re—“

“Stop interrupting me, asshole,” Tony growls at him and gets a wet laugh from the soldier. “I meant, I’m not good at—at this—you saw how I was with and after Pepper,” Tony gives him a look when the other man opens his mouth to argue and he quickly closes it. “I don’t know how this works. I don’t know how to make things work, but I do know that we can’t—Steve, I can’t—“

“You don’t trust me,” the other man says quietly. He looks so infinitely sad but resigned to the idea, and Tony wishes that he could contradict him. He hates to hurt him, but the engineer knows that he can’t do this and lie to himself. He can’t contradict Steve, and know that there’s days when the need to drink because of the memories gets so strong that he has to find Viz or Rhodey to watch him. He can’t tell him that the shield is hidden in the deepest part of his workshop because he can’t keep the panic at bay if he sees it. He can’t tell Steve that he considered bringing Barnes to the compound, but didn’t trust himself not to fall into that dark pit of despair and hatred and hurt him. He can’t give him a rundown of all the times he’s gone to the BARF looking for some peace.

“I’m sorry,” he says instead, wretchedly. He blinks his eyes down to his feet, and hopes that Steve doesn’t see the tears there. He’s barely holding on as it is, right now, and he can’t help the avoidance. He’s never been very good at facing these emotional messes he puts himself into. Already, Steve is the exception. Tony has never before put this much effort into _not_ letting go.

“Don’t apologize, Tony,” Steve says in a broken whisper. “It’s the last thing I’d expect from you. After everything I’ve done—“

“Stop,” Tony forces out. They can’t keep going around in circles. It’s as though they’re just reopening the wounds to watch them bleed, but not changing anything in the process. Tony can’t stand to hear any more empty platitudes. He can’t stomach being reminded of Pepper and Ty and everyone else whom he has let down. He needs this to be different. “Steve, just stop. I don’t care about your apologies. They mean squat to me if you—I—if _we_ don’t change.”

“I can do better,” Steve says immediately and Tony chuckles humorlessly. Who would have thought it, huh? _Captain America_ offering to be better for someone like the merchant of death. “And I know,” the soldier continues before the mechanic can interrupt again. “Tony, I pro—“

“Stop,” Tony says tiredly. The last thing he wants, now that they are doing so well, is any more empty promises. By the sad look the soldier gives him, he knows that he has managed to convey his point well enough for the blond to get. It hurts, that he can’t even hear the words without the stupid part of him believing them, but he’d rather play it safe. For the time being at least.

The soldier opens his mouth to say something else, more platitudes or more attempted promises, the mechanic doesn’t know. He is interrupted, however, when Tony’s glance over his shoulder and widen in alarm. Running on instinct alone, Steve uses one of his hands to cup the back of Tony’s head and hunches down around him. He doesn’t know what the dark haired man say, but he’s sure as hell not going to let whatever it is hurt the other man.

A hard projectile hits his back, followed in quick succession by another one hitting his shoulder, and he ducks a little to protect Tony. Though, logically, he realizes that whatever he is being… pelted with isn’t deadly, he’d rather not take any chances. Tony, the reckless idiot, seems to have other ideas. He’s pushing at Steve’s chest, and growling something about _confiscated those stupid toys, he swears to god…_

“Harley Keener, you better put the Mark 7 down right this moment. How even did you get in here?!” Steve, brain belatedly recognizing that there is no danger whatsoever, turns around to look at their assailant. The first thing his eyes drop to are the two potatoes at his feet, and then turns incredulous eyes up to look at the… kid. Small, blond floppy-haired kid who’s glaring at him with the same type of determination he’s seen on the Spider-teen. Oh, boy. Another one.

“Step away from the mechanic,” Harley, as always, completely ignores him. He’s glaring daggers at the soldier who wisely backs up. He puts his hands up in surrender.

“Okay, good, you got him. Now, put it down,” Tony rolls his eyes and places his hands on his waist. Steve has to bite his tongue to keep from commenting on the pose. Tony catches his eyes and glares regardless so he guesses that he’s not quite successful. “Har, eyes up here,” the genius says with a snap of his fingers. Steve recognizes the fond-pretending-to-be-insufferable tone from the time he’d spent around the genius and the bots. “How did you get here? Don’t you have a project or something to be working on?” Steve also recognizes the pretending-to-not-have-kept-tabs tone. Apparently, so does the boy because he merely rolls his eyes and slings his potato thing over his shoulder like some type of western hero.   


“Which was due last week. Before the long weekend,” the kid watches Steve warily before approaching the dark haired man and smacking a bundle of papers on his chest. Tony rolls his eyes but takes them nevertheless. His eyes scan the papers with a smile before seemingly remembering the other people in the room and schooling his features into mild curiosity. This time, Steve and Harley both roll their eyes. Steve attempts to give a tentative grin to the kid, but the boy only puffs up in anger and glares at him. The soldier suppresses a sigh. It seems as though winning Tony over might not be the only hurdle in his way.

He counts the people he has to prove his worth to, and though it seems like an impossible task when not even Tony himself seems to be able to forgive him, he’s glad. He is so fucking glad that Tony has found this mismatched group of individuals who deeply care about him. He is so glad that despite the carelessness of his letter, how callously he’d called the Avengers Tony’s when they had followed _him_, that there were people who didn’t allow themselves to be blinded to the genius’s goodness. There is also a small part of himself that feels vindicated, that feels as though he should tell Tony a big _I told you so_, because watching them together? Watching Tony mock arguing about something on Harley’s report card or watching the casual way in which he slings his arm around either kid? That was something Steve had never been blind to. Tony was a great fucking role model, and he is so grateful that he is allowed to see it.

He is pulled out of his reverie when Tony makes a disgusted noise. Harley turns around from playing with one of the tablets left over from their meeting and rolls his eyes at the mechanic. Steve doesn’t feel like he has the right to say anything, but he burns with curiosity. Thankfully, he doesn’t have to because Tony is so affronted that he needs to vent.

“Look at this!” he says heatedly. He’s waving the paper too fast for Steve to read, but apparently that doesn’t matter. “A C+ on fucking geography! A subject he could pass in his _sleep_ if he tried, but does he? No, because he enjoys my suffering.”

“How do _my_ middle school grades affect _you_, exactly?” Harley asks at the same time FRIDAY chirps up with an “one hundred into the college fund, boss.”

“You’re not the one that has to deal with your mother,” Tony mutters. He’s still glaring at the paper in disgust. This time, even Steve rolls his eyes despite the consequences he knows he’ll be liable for.

“did you forget I live with the woman?!” Harley says in an affronted tone. “and what about you, anyway?”

“_What_ about me? I was done with middle school when I was eight, thank you very much, I’m not the one that has to pass geography. And no,” Tony interrupts and _literally wags his finger_ at Harley. “I don’t care how much of a dick Adler is. You can do better than this, Keener.”

“C’s get degrees,” Harley mutters and steve is afraid Tony might pop a vein if the confrontation keeps going. He is too entertained to interrupt, however. “Anyway, I’m talking about the fact that you didn’t tell Pete that _he_,” and ah, there is the disgust. “Was back. Do you know what it’s like to have to talk to a spider dude off the ledge? The _actual_ ledge, Tony! He was about to swing out of his apartment!”

“You wouldn’t have had to if you weren’t such a blabber mouth!”

“I didn’t know what else to do!”

“Har, I was dealing—“

“that’s what you said last time—“

“That was different—“

“It didn’t sound any fucking diff—“

“Harley, watch your mouth! You know—“

“You sounded the _same_—“

“But I wasn’t. you know me—“

Steve feels the tension mounting and knows he has to find a way to stop them from saying anything they might regret. Harley is red faced and shaking; one hand gripping the nozzle of his potato gun tightly. Tony is grinding his teeth so hard Steve can _actually hear _them and his hands are fisted in a way that lets the soldier know he’s trying his best to rein in his temper. He doesn’t know what they’re talking about, not really, but he can recognize a situation that needs deescalating when he sees one. He’s barely opening his mouth to say something when the tide breaks.

“I was _scared!”_ Harley screams and his eyes are wide in almost-panic. Steve swallows hard at the distress on the boy’s face. And he looks just like what he is when before he’d looked like a miniature adult; a copy of Tony who’d learned the genius’s mannerisms well. Now, though, he looks like a scared little boy who has no idea what to do. “I was scared that you needed someone to talk you out of your head again and there was nobody around. I could _hear_ it, Tony. I could hear the stupid BARF in the background and you weren’t okay, and I was miles away. And the only—the only thing—what I could do—I couldn’t—“hearing the boy hiccupping tears Steve’s heart in two.

Tony’s whole expression crumbles at how upset the boy is. Immediately, like a flash of lightning in a storm, Steve sees that familiar look pass through Tony’s eyes. He recognizes it from before. Before the war, and even before this break with Harley; it’s the same look the dark haired genius always had after an argument. After another screaming match where Steve or one of the others berates him for his recklessness, for his thoughtlessness, for what they’d always labeled as his selfishness because they’d never, not once, bothered to ask why the man did the things he did. Why he couldn’t stop the mad dashing inside his brain to explain himself. Steve had always interpreted that flash as anger; that last push at determination before the genius came up with a comment that cut everyone else down to the quick. Now, though, as Tony fumbles the few steps to where Harley is standing, the soldier recognizes it for what it truly is.

It has never been superiority or stubbornness. It has always been guilt.

“Hey,” Tony says softly as he places his hands on Harley’s shoulders. “C’mon, Har, look at me.”

“You were alone,” Harley says miserably and Steve blinks at the ceiling to stave off tears. “You were alone, and I couldn’t help you. I thought—“

“You’re not going to lose me,” Tony says in that voice Steve recognizes from countless missions together. The voice he used when he’d find Steve in the gym after a nightmare, and promised him he’d never have to go back into the ice. Not on his watch. “I have bad days; more often than most people. I’ve had really, really shit days lately—“

“Because of _them_,” the boy bites out angrily. Steve bites his tongue so hard he tastes blood to keep the apology in. he can’t interrupt. He can’t take that from Tony, too.

“Hey, no,” Tony cradles the boy’s head in his hands as if he might break and makes him look up at him. As his back is turned to the soldier, Steve can’t see the expression on the other man’s face but he is relieved when the boy relaxes. “Back when we met, you talked me out of a panic attack, remember?”

Something twists inside Steve’s chest. God, there’s so much he doesn’t know. There is so much he was willfully blind to.

“That was way before all of… this. Remember? Back then, they were still fa—“there’s a barely there hitch in Tony’s voice before he continues, but it tears Steve a part all the same. Family. “Friends. I had that panic attack because of me. You can’t blame them for something that is mine, Har. The—things—that happen inside my head are nobody’s fault. It’s something that I have to deal with, and calling you through that wasn’t fair. I had no right to scare you, or Peter, like that.”

“You needed us,” Harley says and ah, there’s that Stark stubbornness shining through again. “You always say that’s what we have you for, right? Then it makes sense that it would go both ways. that means we have your back too,” Harley says and then, after a brief moment of consideration, rushes to wrap his skinny arms around the man’s waist. “Even when I tattle.”

Tony’s back muscles tense for a second, in utter surprise at a _hug_, Christ, before his arms wrap around the boy just as tightly. He gives a wet chuckle, and then says quietly, “okay, shortstack.”

“I’m gonna be taller than you, soon,” Harley says mischievously as they pull away. He wipes his nose on the back of his arm, and Tony makes a disgusted noise. He pulls a handkerchief from his back pocket, and Steve will ask about that, and hands it to the boy. Harley rolls his eyes but takes it with a smile.

“You’re smaller than the last time I saw you. I wouldn’t hold my breath, Benjamin Button,” Tony says and ruffles his hair.

“You only look taller ‘cause you like wearing those weird platform shoe things,” Harley grins. Steve thinks back to a hours before and realizes that, while the spider boy still has some catching up to do, he’d probably overtake Tony soon.

“They’re for better support to my delicate arches,” Tony sniffs indignantly. Steve can’t help his snort of laughter, and Tony immediately turns to him. He’d forgotten he was there, the soldier is sure, otherwise he would never have allowed himself to be that vulnerable and genuine. The blond’s good humor threatens to deflate, but he soldiers on regardless. He’d take small miracles where he can get them. “You shut up,” he says with the same motherly finger wag. Steve bites his lip to hide his smile. “We can’t all be heights of human perfection.”

“Height of steroid cocktails, maybe,” Harley mutters, and yup. Steve has a long, long road to forget ahead. He’s thinking it might just be worth it to get to know this small spit fire that Tony calls his, though.

“Has your mother never told you to respect your elders? And no,” Tony says sternly. “Don’t you start.” Harley giggles, and Tony rolls his eyes, and Steve is left blissfully clueless to what he is sure is some type of inside joke. He doesn’t mind one bit, though. “Anyway, Har this is the Captain. Cap, this is the Hobbit.”

“if anyone’s a hobbit here it’s you, old man,” Harley says with a sass only rivaled by the two men present, Clint Barton, and a cryogenically asleep super soldier. “What with the hairy feet and shortness.”

Steve chuckles and offers his hand before Tony can retort. He doesn’t miss the way Tony straightens as he looks at them or the quick glance the boy shoots at his mechanic. He knows how important this is. Has seen the genius interact with all the children. And while his shot at a good impression is impossible at this point, he still wants to start this acquaintance as amicably as possible.

“Steve Rogers, I’m not particularly fond of the title these days,” he has to swallow the bitter taste of regret that rises up at that. He offers his sincerest smile at the boy.

“Harley Keener,” the boy says in a clipped tone. He takes the soldier’s hand, and Steve knows he’s gripping as hard as he can. It doesn’t do much, obviously, but the soldier knows the intent behind the gesture. It’s a warning in and of itself, and that’s even before the boy smiles up at him and says, “And I know of two elements on the periodic table that could destroy vibranium. Bet Tony would be able to get them for me if I asked.”

“Harley, oh my God,” Tony groans in annoyance and then bursts out laughing at the shocked look on the soldier’s face. Harly grins up at both of them. Before anyone can make a comment, FRIDAY’s amused voice comes from the speakers in the conference room.

“A message for you from the Boss Lady, boss,” the AI says. When the genius prompts her, Laura’s voice comes through the speakers. “Lunch is ready, boys.”

“We’ll be right up, Laura,” Tony says with a smile as he ruffles Harley’s hair. Much to his annoyance.

“Oh, and Tony?” a new female voice says over the speaker. Steve doesn’t recognize her, but he’s alarmed at the way the genius’s face loses color. Harley’s eyes widen in alarm. “You boys and I will be having a talk about the latest donation to that college fund.”

“You’re dead meat,” Harley says solemnly.

“I’m so fucked,” Tony groans melodramatically.

“another hundred to the college fund, sir,” FRIDAY chirps and Steve would swear there’s amusement heavy in her lilting voice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cinnamon roll Harley. Too precious. Too pure.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sometimes you have to be strong for others even when you can't do it for yourself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feels-vomited all over this fic. So sorry.

Tony has faced down the most dangerous individuals. Has fought against terrorists and maniacs and even alien invasions. He has done all of this with a devil may care grin on his face and determination in his heart. He has broken down terrorist cells and carried a nuke into a wormhole.

And yet, nothing has prepared him for facing the wrath of a mother incensed at the fact that he can’t seem to watch his fucking mouth around her prepubescent kid. Just remembering the last conversation he’d had with Harley’s mother gives him shivers. The trek from the conference room to the communal dining room is solemn in his and the squirt’s parts. Cap, the bastard, has amusement rolling out of him in waves.

“What if I just wait here,” the mechanic begins a few feet away from the entryway, “and one of you scavenges some food? or better yet, I can go back to the workshop and you can bring me left overs!” he turns his most charming grin on the two boys accompanying him and gets an eye roll from Harley and an unimpressed look from the Captain.

“The last time I did that, you decided it meant you never had to leave the workshop again and pulled an eighty four hour binge _that_,” Steve says loudly when it looks like Tony might interrupt, “disastrously ended up on you getting a concussion and needing three stitches.”

Harley whistles impressively at that, and then giggles like the little shit he is when Tony can do nothing but pout. Steve grins down at him and for a moment it looks like things might actually get better from here. Tony has never been big on symbolism, but he decides to be optimistic about his outlook with the way things are at the moment. The sun is high and bright outside the panoramic windows, and for once most of the people he truly cares about are all together, if not happy, then at least with the possibility of being happy sometime sure. A _real_ possibility, at that.

He decides that they’re all pretty damn fucking lucky to even get that much.

When he makes his way into the dining room behind Steve and Harley, Tony allows himself a small smile. Steve turns to give him a tentative one in return, and the dark haired genius feels his cheeks heating up. Yeah, he knows the big crash is coming, knows that he’ll need Steve when it happens the same way Steve will need _him_ when the pain and the guilt become too much, but at this very moment he can have this. He can allow himself to push aside the lingering resentment and bask in the reality of this mismatched group of freaks he’s found himself falling in love with.

“Mr. Stark,” the voice snaps his gaze away from the blond and to another, petite blond with an impressive green glare. Tony swallows hard, and pretends he doesn’t hear the twin snickers from his boys.

“Mrs. Keener,” he says solemnly. She gives him the patented unimpressed mother look that both her and Laura, and ironically Pepper, have mastered. He tries to give her his charming smile, but he’d be lying if he said he’s not shaking in his metaphorical boots. She approaches him, and he has to make a conscious effort not to take a step back. Rather than the ear pulling he’d been expecting, though, she envelops him into an official Keener hug. Tony sighs in relief against her hair and basks in her citrusy scent.

“Hello, Tony,” she says fondly and he grins.

“Hi, Danielle,” he responds softly.

“Couldn’t even make it fifteen minutes, huh?” she says when they pull away. Peter laughs from where he’s sitting between Cooper and an amused Harley.

“Meh, you know me. I just get this need to express myself,” he winks at her and she wrinkles her nose up at him though he knows her well enough to see the amusement in her eyes.

“Seven hundred dollars, Tony,” she shakes her head. He knows she finds him ridiculous.

“Hey, you were the one that set up the rules!”

“I thought it’d at least give you pause!” she says as she smacks his arm playfully.

“Please,” Laura says and Tony turns in time to catch the eye roll she gives him as she plates some food for Lila. “He’s taken it as a personal challenge at this point. By now, I’m pretty sure the kids have up to half their doctorates payed for.”

“Tony-bot likes to say naughty words,” a young voice chirps in. Tony turns to see Ginny now sitting next to her brother and he grins at the watch strapped to her skinny little wrist. Score for that vintage. She’s looking at Scott as she says it, so he assumes that he’d enquired about their argument. Cassie, who’d been sitting next to her father, nods in confirmation. “So Momma made the rule that he has to drop a hundred dollars into the college funds.”

Natasha, who’d been having a very serious conversation with Lilly about the benefits of having her Barbie doll be a ballerina assassin or a teacher spy, turns to raise his eyebrow at him. Her lips press together to hide her amusement. “What happens when you swear in front of all of them?”

“That’s a hundred bucks _per_ kid,” Harley says with a dramatic widening of his eyes. Cooper snorts with laughter.

“What’s the score now?” Sam says through a mouthful of mashed potatoes, an incredulous look on his face.

“I got a degree in mechanical engineering, and half my teaching credential paid for,” Harley says and then thanks his mom when she places a plate of food.

“I got a degree in biochemistry, one in genetics, and a PhD covered,” Peter says with a grin. “But mostly because I’ve been around him longer.”

“We got ours and half a year of rent,” Cooper says as Lilly nods thoughtfully.

“I got all my degrees and a Van Dyne dress for Hope,” Cassie says as she scoops peas into her amused father’s plate.

“I got all the pretty dresses I want for my dollies,” Ginny says cheerfully.

There’s a beat of silence before the whole room bursts into laughter. “Oh my God, Stark,” Sam says and Rhodey claps him on the shoulder with a grin. Tony blushes as he makes his way to the kitchen sink to wash his hands. His eyes, as is routine, go to the garbage disposal, and then he freezes.

“Oh, shit!” he hears from behind him. There’s a giggle that is quickly suppressed, and a groan. He’s pretty sure the groan was Steve’s.

“Seriously!” Tony turns around, and it’s really hard to fight down the grin that pops up on his face. It’s just so _normal_. It’s so… perfect. “What is this? Ginny, you’re a smart girl, what does it say on the sign outside?” there’s another groan from Steve, and a synchronized sigh from the mothers in the room.

“’Vengers Facility,” the girl says proudly.

“That’s right! That’s another hundred on your college fund,” Tony says with a grin and gets a snort from Cooper again and a longer sigh from Danielle. “But anyway, this is the Avengers Facility. Earth’s mightiest heroes? Most decidedly,” he points to the disposal, “_not_ the bed and breakfast for a biker gang! How many fucking times?”

“College fund!” everyone calls cheerfully.

“Hey, do _we_ get money on the college fund?” Rhodey says contemplatively. Sam grins.

“I think it’d be unfair if you didn’t,” Peter says wisely and then looks angelically at Tony when he glares.

“Only if you can match it when you swear,” Steve says quickly before Tony or Sam can retort.

“Ha!” Tony says like the mature adult that he is.

“Aw, Steve,” Sam mock-pouts because he is also an adult. Cap, the shit, merely grins.

“Aw, ‘Teve!” and then a giggle. Sam turns wide eyed at Baby Bart who claps at the attention he gets. And then he points at the blond, and says, “’Teve!” the man in question is watching the baby open mouthed. In the past few days, while everyone has made a concentrated effort in befriending the children, nobody has managed to make Baby Bart pronounce their names. Except for Sam that first day, and nobody quite knows why Baby Bart decided he was worthy. Mostly, he merely points. The only words the boy seems to really want to say being Mumma and ‘Onny. Needless to say, the competitive bastards had turned it into a metaphorical bloodbath.

“Clever Bart-bot, that _is_ Steve!” Tony says proudly. The baby gives him a gummy smile and raises his arms towards him. He’s well versed in sign communication at this point, seeing as it is essential to his babysitting duties, and understands him perfectly. Stupidly, after months of practice, he approaches the baby to pick him up. What he doesn’t stop to think, however, is _who_ is holding the baby in his lap and who is sitting next to them.

Baby Bart grabs hold of his fingers, the thing that he enjoys right before Tony picks him up, and gives them a squeeze. The baby heaves himself forward to fall into the mechanic’s arms, but finds himself pinned in place. Barton’s arm secure around him to keep him where he is.

The cheer in the room dies a sudden death at that.

Tony’s eyes, that had been locked on the Baby’s and trying his better best not to look too besotted, immediately snapped up to the blond man’s. Barton has a scowl on his face, and his arm keeps the baby where he is. Bart-bot makes a whining noise and stretches a bit more with a fussy “’Onnyyyy.” Barton looks down at him and hushes him while Tony straightens.

He notices then that the whole room is looking at them, can feel their eyes on their interaction, and he feels that weird tightening on his skin. He feels itchy and hot with the attention; the sounds of the baby are too loud in the suddenly-quiet room. He avoids everyone’s eyes as he straightens his spine and throws his shoulders back. He immediately throws his safety blanket over himself; the show-boating asshole that Howard, and Stane and Ty made sure to cultivate. He hates it, always has, and there were times when he would have been able to shed that cocoon for these people.

Now, though, he can’t do that for them. They’d taken that confidence away from him, and now he can’t pretend like he can forget what they’ve been through and let them in again. Not this soon. So, instead, he does the second thing he’s best at when things get to be too much. When he can’t find the strength to put his armor on and confront the world. He wordlessly turns around and accepts the plate that Laura hands to him without another word.

When he takes it from her, her eyes snap from her husband to his and a hand raises to his cheek. One finger brushes against his cheek as she gives him a nod. Before, he would have been forced to stay, he knows. Now, though, she only gives him a reassuring nod as he makes a hasty exit. He vaguely hears the legs of a chair scraping against the hardwood floor, but he can’t be bothered to find out who, if anyone, is following him.

Back when he was designing the plans for the facility, Tony was struck by inspiration one night (or morning) after another bender. He’d been putting the finishing touches on the outside accommodations when he’d remembered one of his favorite places as a child. He’d immediately begun to sketch the plans on the blueprints he’d given to Pepper. He still remembers the bright smile she’d given him when she’d seen it.

Howard had… loved Maria, in his own way. One could even argue that he had worshipped her; her kindness and her subtle intelligence. Where he was harsh and unyielding in his ideas, she was soft and persuasive. While he’d been ruled by what he thought was reason, even when it wasn’t, she had balanced that with empathy. He’d admired, and perhaps even envied, her kindness. For that reason, he’d often caved in what he considered her “frivolities.”

The first memory Tony has of his mother is of her face, haloed in her perfectly coifed thick dark hair, looking down on him as she rocks them in his favorite rocking chair. The cherry wood one with the perfectly carved characters from Le Petite Prince. He remembers everything as being very bright, and rich in color around the edges. Flowers he wouldn’t learn the names of until much later surrounding them and permeating the air around them in their rich perfumes. The memories after that are blurrier and much less pleasant, Tony having blocked most of his shitty childhood around Howard as well as he could, but the greenhouse had always been one of his comfort places.

On a whim, he’d placed a long dining table in the New Avengers’ Facility. Much like one at the old manor, this one had been tinted with bittersweet memories too. It’s where he makes his way to eat lunch, however, because despite the fact that he’d used it as place to run away, it’d always brought him comfort.

He places himself on one end of the table and breathes in the smell of the flowers. He remembers lilac and peonies, because they were his mother’s favorites and to this day the only flowers he can identify by smell, and lets his eyes roam over them among the tulips and violets he’d always been partial to. He refuses to dwell on the memories of flowers associated with his father. There’s an ache in his chest as he reminisces. The greenhouse had always been a source of comfort for him, but now it seems to only be bringing him longing and guilt.

With a sigh, he tucks into his dinner and wills himself to stop being so maudlin. So what if some of his former fa—friends don’t like him anymore. It’s not as if he has never experienced that feeling before. Howard had been a very adamant teacher in that; every time he’d send Tony to a new boarding school when he began to be too “distracted” with other children. All it took was for one child to greet Tony by name in Howard’s presence for him to be relocated, and god forbid he find Tony speaking to someone on the telephone or exchanging emails or letters. As he grew older, the younger Stark had begun to be cleverer in hiding his distractions. By then it was others that had begun to tech Tony about heartache and lost friendships. It was the kids that befriended him for his money or connections, and the kids that found him too tiresome to deal with. It was the quick-as-lightning relationships he had that sought a comfort he never found, and were later labeled as one night stands by the tabloids. It was the people like Ty Stone who found too fragile and insecure to deal with but perfect for breaking, the people like Justin Hammer who didn’t even pretend. After his father, it was all the people who taught Tony that letting go was better and simpler than trying to hold on when he wasn’t worth it. When it was too much for people to handle; too much insecurity, too much neglect, too much brashness, too much of an asshole, too reckless… just… too much.

Tony had had plenty of practice with that before, and the team would just be another tally to add up. This wouldn’t break him. He chose to ignore how that voice had begun to sound much quieter the more time he spent around them, and how much louder the broken part of himself kept crying out. He was Iron Man, goddamn it, he was forged with stronger metal than that.

He’s so lost in his thoughts that he doesn’t notice when a little person drops on the seat right next to his. It’s only when the other person’s plate clatters on the table that he looks up, startled. When he notices who it is, his fork hits his plate with a loud clank.

“Sorry, was this seat taken?” the boy says with an attempt at a grin that falls flat. It wasn’t that bad of a smoke screen, but his lips tremble at the corners with the effort to keep the façade. He keeps blinking his eyes, and Tony knows that if he were to ask, the kid would blame it on his floppy brown hair.

“All of them are, actually,” Tony says with his own attempted grin. “I was actually supposed to be throwing this huge party. I’m kind of famous for them, you know? But nobody showed.”

“Maybe they all don’t like your lame jokes,” the kid says and Tony laughs softly.

They lapse into silence as they both eat their lunch. Tony thinks of something to say, something wise and comforting, and wishes that Jarvis were still around. Either version of him would know what to say to a kid who’d just gotten his dad back better than Tony himself would. Howard had never been the comforting or fatherly type. He’d never played soccer with him on the backyard or driven him to school or helped him with his homework. He can’t exactly relate his experience to that of the kid currently sitting next to him. He does, however, know how devastating it is to feel abandoned. To feel as though your opinions aren’t important; especially when you’re vivacious and intelligent and kind like the boy now making him company.

“Why did you build this?” the boy suddenly asks after a while of comforting silence. Tony doesn’t know what, exactly, he means so he merely turns and looks at him. “The greenhouse, I mean. You’re this… this tech guru guy, you know? Nobody thinks you’d enjoy something like this.”

Tony opens his mouth to say something snappy, make some remark about how he’s _the_ name in clean energy right now, but closes it quickly. He feels the shakiness coming off the kid in waves, and knows that sarcasm isn’t the way to play it though that’s usually how the two of them communicate. He decides to take a page out of the Jarvises’ book and go with the truth. He takes a deep breath to steel himself and, eyes still set on the bed of flowers and the expanse of lawn beyond it, begins his story. “The best memories I have of my mother are in a greenhouse. In fact, my very first memory is of her singing to me in Italian when I was very little, and she was rocking me, and we were in the greenhouse that my father built for her in the Stark Mansion. When things got… bad while I grew up, I’d always run to the greenhouse to just… be. When my father sent me away to boarding school, I always tried my best to find one so that I could still have a little bit of home with me. I didn’t find them always, but I was very glad when I did.”

“What were her favorites?” Cooper asks, and his voice is subdued. His reverent tone matching the way Tony has talked about his mother since the day she passed. Was murdered. He takes another shuddering breath.

“Peonies. Theyre—“

“Those,” Coop points to a bed to their right. Tony looks down at him in surprise and the boy grins. “Mom had a small garden in our all house. She said we needed most of the space for fruits and veggies and stuff, but she liked to have flowers. She planted all the ones she could. She likes carnations best, but she had all sorts. They kind of look the same, and I mostly can’t tell them apart so those I pointed at might be carnations, but,” he ends his sentence in an embarrassed shrug and looks down at where his hands are wringing together in his lap.

God, Tony is so bad at this comforting thing, but he knows he has to try. Something fragile and beaten down, maybe the kid who’d been forced to grow up too hard and too fast, feels a kinship to this boy sitting next to him. It feels as though he has to say something to make it right. “When I was about ten, I went out with our friend Jarvis, the real one, and got my mom this big bouquet of flowers. I gave them to her and told her I’d got his favorites, and I swear she smiled so big I thought her face would get stuck that way. I didn’t find out till later that they were carnations, and I went up to her and apologized, but she told me that just the fact that I’d gone out to get them for her meant they were her favorite flowers.” They both chuckle at that, and Tony blinks the mist out of his eyes.

“Mom misses the flowers,” Cooper’s voice breaks as he says it. “She keeps asking for a bouquet to be delivered so she can put them on the kitchen counter, and sometimes when I’m back from school I catch her standing there looking at them. I’ve come in a couple of times, and she doesn’t notice. She gets lost in them, and I know she’s thinking of home. She misses the garden, and the woods around our house, and how quiet everything was,” Coop’s breath hitches and Tony knows the desperation in his voice intimately, “and the afghan that we left thrown over the couch and the tally marks of where we grew up on the upstairs bathroom frame, and the musty old garage where the Old Lady was and Nate’s purple duckie and going out to the market and talking to Mrs. Ramirez about her grandkids, and taking us to the swimming pool, and dad. She misses Dad being around and making stupid jokes over dinner and throwing the Frisbee around with the stray dog that lives under our front porch and his whistling as he chops wood, and he can’t see that. It’s like he doesn’t care that he hurt my mom. And I hate him. I hate him for hurting my mama.”

Tony hauls him against his side and lets the boy bury his nose in his neck when he starts crying. He closes his eyes against the mop of brown hair and fights the tight wave of self-loathing as the kid falls apart in his arms. God fucking damn it. He wants to apologize for tearing his family apart so bad, he wants to go down on his knees and tell cooper how sorry he is that his stupidity brought his family down the way it did. What good would it do, though? What good is he falling apart next to the little boy? Cooper needs him to be the adult right now, and he has failed in so much more but by God and his mother and everything that he holds dear, he will not be another person that lets this kid down.

“Shhhh,” Tony says against his hair as he rocks him. Cooper sniffles against him and buries himself a little deeper, hiding his eyes. “Coop,” Tony says softly once the kid has calmed down. He runs gentle fingers through the boy’s hair. “Listen to me, because I’m about to tell you something very important. Your father loves you. Shhh, listen,” he says again and makes the boy look at him straight in the eye. “He loves you so damn much, Cooper, you and your sister and your baby brother and _especially_ your mom. Every time he came down to the facility or we called him up at your house, we couldn’t shut him up about you guys. He’d always be telling us how fast Nate was growing, and how smart you and Lila were, and how damn strong your mom was. How she could be able to take over the whole world if she wanted. I’ve lost count of how many conversations we had about how intelligent and beautiful and amazing and kind your mom is.” And it’s true, too, though Tony is embellishing a bit. All those conversations about Laura had come second hand to him, from Steve or Nat or Sam and sometimes even Wanda when she could look past her inherent dislike for the engineering. It doesn’t make Barton’s devotion any less true. “It’s just that, sometimes… well, sometimes dads do things that we can’t understand. Sometimes they make decisions because they think they’re the right ones and we can’t understand them, but we know that they’re just trying to do what’s best for us. Your dad… Cooper, your dad was trying his best to do what he could to protect you. Because he loves you all so damn much.”

“He was trying to protect _her_,” Tony rears back at the venom in the boy’s voice. _Goddamn it, Clint_, he thinks.

“Wanda is a kid, Cooper. She might be older than you, but compared to guys like your dad and me, she is still so young. And after what she’s gone through, she needed someone to protect her. To mentor her and love her like nobody had really loved her since her parents died. She lost her brother in the fight in Sokovia,” Cooper inhales sharply and Tony realizes that this is something Barton has never shared. He feels like he’s overstepping, but he’s already told him the truth. He reminds himself to mind his mouth from that point on. “Pietro… he was her everything, you know? She would have done anything to protect that idiot,” Tony chuckles lowly at the memory of that silver blur. “And then I came along, and made this… _thing_ that killed him.”

“Mom says that wasn’t all your fault,” Cooper says quietly, correctly hearing the hatred in his tone, and squeezes his hand quickly. Tony merely shrugs.

“So she was alone, and surrounded by people she didn’t know, probably didn’t like, and thought she couldn’t trust. And then there’s this guy, this simple human dude with nothing but a bow and arrow and a kickass set of deadly skills,” Tony pokes the kid’s side and manages to garner a smile. “and he’s willing to go out there for this random city, her city, and protect it because that’s just what he does. Just another day in the office, and suddenly she has one person she cares about and can count on. And your dad? Coop, your dad is so fucking good that he takes her under his wing and makes sure that she’s watered and fed and protected. He makes sure that she has a home, and training and most of all, the most important thing of all, that she feels like she matters. He makes her feel like she is meaningful and powerful and a person deserving of love despite what she’s gone through,” _what she’s done_, he doesn’t say. “And that’s so important, Coop. I hope you never, ever have to feel like that,” Tony stares at the horizon but feels Cooper’s gaze locked on him. “I hope you _never_ feel like that, but having someone so clearly in your corner is what makes you or breaks you sometimes.”

“Why did he have to leave us for her though?” and Tony can feel him crying again.

“Oh, Coop,” Tony says softly. “He didn’t choose anyone over you. He’d never do that, kiddo, he didn’t fight just because of her. The accords… the laws they were trying to put up… they were dangerous. They could have hurt your dad, and then you would all have been hurt, too. Clint—your father was just trying to keep you all safe and happy. That’s what he’ll _always_ want for you guys.”

“You defended the accords,” Cooper says stubbornly. Tony closes his eyes in shame, and the boy sits back to look up at him better, though he doesn’t pull away. “You thought they could work, and you still protected us. You came to get us before the bad people did, mom said so. You were for the accords, but you didn’t pick sides.”

“There weren’t sides to pick for me, Coop,” he says and makes sure he meets the boy’s eyes. He wants him to know that he’s not lying. That Tony will try his very best to never lie to him, or the others. That the bond they’ve all formed is too pure, means far too much, for him to ever break by lying. “To me, it was all about my family. I—well, the truth is that some very bad people came to talk to me about the accords before anyone else, and they—your aunt Tasha would say that they threatened me, but I think they more talked me into accepting being part of the accords. The way I saw it, if I pretended to be for these new laws then I’d have the in, you know? I’d be able to work with and against them at the same time. I supported the basic idea about them; the idea of accountability, meaning that I understood that we needed to be put in check and be responsible for our actions.”

“Like you with Ultron and Wanda with the other—stuff,” by the way he says it, it’s clear the boy isn’t quite sure what that other stuff entails. Tony decides it’s best if he doesn’t really know, considering his current dislike for their resident witch.

“Exactly. I thought… well, I thought that the others would understand the UN’s point. I thought they’d see that we were dangerous, and needed reassurance. The alternative… If I had said no,” Tony sighs and scrubs a hand over his face. “The truth is, Cooper, that if I had said no I don’t know what would have happened. Where we are right now would not even exist anymore, maybe. So I said yes, and I immediately started working on a way to amend the accords because—“

“You wanted to protect us,” a voice says from behind him. They both turn around to see Peter and Harley carrying four plates of dessert between them. Harley sits on the other side of tony while Peter takes a seat across form them. “We figured you’d be here and we didn’t want you two to miss dessert,” he says at Tony’s questioning look.

“Dude, it’s your favorite,” Harley says as he passes a slice of peach cobbler to Cooper. The boy surreptitiously wipes his arm across his eyes, and the others politely look away. “Your mom is a badass cook.”

“That’s one more hours of community service for you, mister,” Tony points at Harley with his fork before digging in. The other two giggle while Harley pouts and take a sulky bite of his cobbler.

“What’s this about community service?” yet another voice says from behind them, and Tony turns around to see almost the whole gang making their way towards them. Danielle is giving Harley a stern look, and the boy tries to not look too guilty.

“Har said a no-no word,” Ginny says from beside her mother, the traitor, and giggles

“No, hiss,” Tony says to distract her from her evil punishment machinations. “My sanctuary is being invaded. Go away.” He dramatically hunches over his peach cobbler.

“Does that mean you don’t want the other slice I brought you?” and this time Tony’s eyes snap directly to Steve’s. He’s one of the last ones to make his way to the table; his cheeks are dusted pink in what Tony knows is embarrassment and he’s rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment as everyone else, including Sam and Lang though with three notable absences, brings their own dessert to their impromptu greenhouse picnic.

“You are all beautiful people and are welcomed to my sanctuary any time you like as long as you bring dessert,” Tony says and then unashamedly turns around and makes grabby hands at the plate in the soldier’s arms. Everyone laughs and rolls their eyes at their antics, and Steve blushes even brighter. He makes his way to where Tony is sitting, and then stops short when he notices there’s no place for him there. Tony can’t even hide his grin when Harley and Cooper, and Peter from the other side, glare at the soldier until he hands the plate and moves away. “You behave,” the mechanic says but it goes, as always, completely ignored.

Things are much easier after that. At some point, Baby Bart is passed around the table until he ends up sitting in Tony’s lap where the genius gets the pleasure of feeding him some cobbler. He somehow ends up with bits of squishy peach _inside_ his shirt, pants _and_ shoes and flakes of crust clinging to his eyelashes. When the sun begins to set and the hanging lights begin to turn on, the baby begins to droop in his arms and he maneuvers around until he’s more comfortable. The kids had gone out to play soccer in the lawn while the adults chattered, and Tony can’t remember an evening where he’d felt this _warm_.

“Stark,” the voice sucks him out of his content stupor in an instant. His arms go instinctively tighter around the baby in his arms, though he knows he has no right to keep him. Bart-bot fusses and he presses his lips to his hair and shushes him until he settles. His eyes meet Steve’s and he can see the blond’s jaw tightening as he looks over the mechanic’s shoulder.

“Yes?” he says, barely able to breath, as he turns his head in acknowledgment though he doesn’t look at the other man.

“May I have a word?”

“Clint, now is really not the time,” Laura says calmly. There’s barely control fury in her tone, and Tony marvels at her. The same way he’d marveled at Pepper. That tightly controlled storm that was tame just for a handful of people.

“I’d just like a moment. I’m not trying to pick a fight,” the tone suggests that it’s hard for the other man to sound civil.

There’s clatter from the entrance of the greenhouse, and Tony realizes why the other man is speaking so evenly. The kids must have come running when they saw him approach. That, more than anything, is what makes the engineer nod in agreement. He hates that their little piss contest is making the atmosphere around the children so chaotic. He hates that they might break into a screaming match, or even worse a fucking brawl, because they can’t clear the air of their bullshit. They have been around each other for fucking months, and they’ve yet to fix their issues. Steve had been ground zero for him, and he’d managed to talk things out and slap a bandaid on _their_ issues. It’s ridiculous not to do it with Clint.

Tony gets to his feet and hands the baby to Laura. She grabs hold of his wrist once Nate has settled again, and scrutinizes his face. He tries to project calm so she doesn’t feel the need to defend him. He’s driven enough of a drift in their marriage to add more distance. She nods, and squeezes one last time before letting him.

“Tony,” Steve says from behind him before he can walk away. He turns, and the soldier looks both solemn and concerned. “You don’t have to. You don’t’ owe us anything,” his eyes go over his shoulder and glares at the man behind Tony

“I know,” the mechanic says with a smile. And he _does_ know that he doesn’t owe Clint shit, but he’s not doing it for him. “I’m not doing this for him or even me.” He tilts his head and sees the moment Steve connects the dots. He gives him one firm nod and sits back down.

“Clint,” another voice pipes up. Tony sees the other man stiffen and turn. Sam is the one on his feet now, and though he tends to be relaxed and open and friendly most of the time, Tony can see the military power and restraint coiled inside him at that moment. “He better return exactly as he is, if not better, or we will have problems. You got that?”

“Loud and clear,” Barton says with a clenched jaw before Tony can say anything in response. He turns to give the mechanic a steely look. “shall we?”

Tony flexes his fingers at his side, wonders for a second if he’s doing the right thing, but then meets the kids’ stress behind Barton. Sees Lila holding tightly to Cassie’s hand on one side and Ginny, partially hidden behind her, on the other. Sees Peter stand behind Harley and Cooper, a hand on one of their shoulders. Listens to Bart-Bot’s even, content breathing behind him and knows he owes it to _them_ to work this out. To set an example. To be what Jarvis and Yinsen thought he could be.

“After you, Agent Barton,” Tony says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MY MOMMA'S BOY TONY T^T  
anyways, thanks for all your well wishes and kudos and comments. Work and my depression and stupid boys ( meaning MY version of Steve) are still kicking my ass, but you're making me feel better with each comment. Sorry i haven't gotten around to individual responses. 
> 
> P.S. You all are helping me beat my writer's block, and after months of it i am so infinitely thankful to each one of you out there.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In between

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all it's been a minute!

Steve doesn’t think much about the fact that he doesn’t see Tony, at all, for the first three days after his confrontation with Barton. He understands that whatever happened between them was a long time coming, though he wishes he could have saved both of them the heartache of the whole endeavor. While he is angry at his friend, his company brother in a lot of ways, he also understands that the archer has been thrown way out of his depth. He shoulders the guilt of that, too, in the early hours of the morning when he can fall back asleep.

After Barton had come back to the green house, alone, everyone had had a minor panic. Not because they thought the archer would harm Tony in any way despite the punch he’d thrown at him the first day they were back, but about the emotional state of the wayward genius. The blond agent hadn’t looked great, either, but after the past months of uncalled for hostility, nobody seemed too eager to forgive and forget. He’d made his way to baby Nate as soon as he’d come in, despite the glare Laura had thrown at him, and all but collapsed into the seat next to Wanda. The young witch had immediately tried to ask what had happened, her tone not settling well with the others, but the archer had refused to speak. Everyone else had dispersed quickly after that; Rhodes, Peter and Harley hadn’t even waited for Barton to reach the table before they were bolting for the main building.

Steve had wanted to do the same, but Vision had caught his eye and shaken his head. It had hurt, no, scratch that, it had _singed_ a part of him to know that he didn’t have that right. Of the bridges he had burned in his stupid self-righteous quest, that’s the one that hurt the most to lose. He didn’t have the right to ask after Tony, didn’t have the right to demand answers or even offer comfort. Not at the moment, at the very least, because while Tony might have accepted him back in a way everyone knew that the genius hadn’t forgiven him. Nobody, not even Steve, had expected him to even give him as much of a reprieve as he already had. Vision might be trying to keep Tony from getting any more hurt by Steve, but the blond was also thankful that he had stopped him at that moment. The mechanic wasn’t someone who opened up easily for anyone; much less the man who had, both physically and metaphorically speaking, shattered his heart.

He hadn’t wanted to stay around Clint and Wanda, though, and had left the table soon after that. He’d been followed by Sam, and surprisingly, Barton’s oldest child. Cooper had thrown one glare at where his father had been nuzzling baby Nate’s fuzzy hair, and had loudly scraped his chair back. His mother recalled him, but he’d merely shaken his head and followed the two superheroes out of the green house. He hadn’t said a word to them, despite Sam’s efforts to get him to talk, and had gone running off as soon as they’d been back at the main compound and Friday had informed them of Tony and the others’ whereabouts.

Again, Steve had tried to follow, but Sam was quick to grab his arm and yank him back. If he’d done it with a little too much force, neither one of them had commented.

“Let it go,” Sam had told him sternly.

“I just want to make sure--” Steve had muttered. He’d given one feeble attempt to yank his arm away, but he didn’t want to hurt his friend. Not one more.

“He’s got the boys for that. They’ll take care of him,” and though Sam hadn’t said it in as many words, the message was implied.

“I just—“

“Let it go,” Sam snapped. The tone of voice made both of them recoil, and the pilot dropped Steve’s arm. They were both silent for a moment before Sam cleared his throat. “Just once, Steve. Let it drop.” There was nothing the blond could say to that and they both knew it. Another beat of silence passed while Sam searched his face for an objection, but there was nothing he could say. “Look, I know you want to go in guns blazing and demand answers. Ask if Tony’s said something to Barton, but—“

“_No_,” Steve said vehemently, taken aback by the turn the conversation had taken. Part of him, a big part if he’s been honest, wants to be insulted at the fact that Sam would think that’s his plan. That he would even suggest anything other than Tony’s wellbeing is on his mind, but he can’t even fake that much. To think that everyone else had noticed how callous and thoughtless he had always been with the man who needed his supposed levelheadedness so much… to think he’d treated Tony like anything but a friend… anything but the man he—“Christ,” he says out loud. “That’s not—I didn’t—this isn’t about _Clint_.”

Sam merely narrows his eyes at him.

“Do you think I’d be that—“ _Cruel_, he wants to say, but can’t get the words out.

_I’m sorry, Tony, you know I wouldn’t do this if there was any other way. But he’s my friend. _

** _So was I._ **

The memory hits him like a train. All the things he’d heard, but hadn’t thought about at the moment. The fact that the armor’s voice modulator had been on, probably so that Steve couldn’t hear… couldn’t know how vulnerable he’d been. Steve hadn’t thought about how it was probably _his_ Tony in that moment… the man who’d babble when he was nervous, the man who liked Steve’s hot chocolate after a bender, the man who’d jokingly-but-not-really offered to buy the Dodgers on a whim for him… he’d been so, so stupid.

“I’m sorry, Steve,” Sam’s chastised voice had pulled him out of is reverie. The man wore a guilty look on his face.

“You’re right,” Steve managed to croak out and he tried to clear his throat of the lump that had formed there. He didn’t want to start crying in the entryway of the compound where any of the others could see him. He didn’t want to make this day about himself when both Clint and Tony were going through their own emotional ordeal.

“Look, man,” Sam had persisted with a far gentler touch to his arm. “I don’t know what you guys talked about in that conference room. I don’t know what kind of ground you’re standing on, but that man—I don’t know him well, we didn’t get a chance to become friends, not like you two did, but… that man, he cares a hell of a lot about all of us. He’s spent a hell of a lot of time trying to keep us safe, too, and I just—hell, Steve, maybe it’s about time we start thinking about what he needs rather than what we want. I know,” he’d said loudly when Steve opened his mouth to speak, a hand raised to stall his words. “That you want to know that he’s okay, but look me in the eye and tell me that you’re sure he’d take it well if you stormed in there right now and demanded he tell you what they talked about. Look me in the eye, and tell me that he wouldn’t assume you’re there to berate him for something.” The _again_ didn’t have to be said.

Steve dropped his gaze again, unable to deny it. He’d fucked up enough to know that. So, instead he’d merely nodded and murmured something about going down to the gym to train. Sam had suggested some sleep might do him good, but it was feeble at best, and he didn’t try to call him back. He’d been down with the punching bag until he was swaying on his feet from mental exhaustion.

It had been ten days now since he’d last seen Tony, and he’d begun to worry. The next day, Peter and Harley walked into the communal kitchen for breakfast but didn’t stay. They’d taken one look at Clint, and swore under their breath collectively, and even FRIDAY’s chirp of _Two hours of community service_ hadn’t garnered even a smile. On the third day, they didn’t appear. On the fourth, Cooper hadn’t walked into the kitchen either, and Laura had been banging cupboard doors. On the fifth, Clint made himself scarce and the kids all sat down for dinner. On the seventh, the hostility had transferred to Steve and he tried his best not to take it personal.

On the ninth, Steve had tried to ask Harley if he knew how his mentor was. The boy had glared up at him, fists curled at his side, and an angry scowl on his face. Steve had braced himself for a swearing down or even an attempted punch, but it seemed as though the boy had learned from Tony’s coping mechanisms because his face went black.

“Well, he can’t drink himself to unconsciousness this time,” he’d said with a cold voice. It had hurt worse than any angry words could have. “Though I’m not sure the way he’s using the BARF is any better.” Then he’d walked away, leaving Steve as though he was rooted to his spot.

_The BARF. _

He wasn’t exactly sure what it was, why Tony had created it in the first place, but he’d become well versed on what it did and, more specifically, what it did to the engineer. On their third week back, he’d stumbled upon a conversation between Rhodes and Tony on his way outside to run the perimeter. He’d wanted to walk away, had known he had no right to eavesdrop, but hadn’t been able to help himself. He hadn’t seen Tony in days, had been dying to know anything about the other man, and so he had stayed.

“You can’t keep doing this to yourself, man,” Rhodes’s voice had tried to be stern but he’d come out more like pleading. “This isn’t healthy.”

“It’s helping,” Tony’s voice had sounded _wrecked_. The way it did after another binge, after another callous question about his father, after another stupid argument… it’d sounded like every other time he had tried to give up.

“It’s making it worse. Tony, I am begging you, _just stop_.”

“But it _is_ helping, Rhodey,” Tony’s voice had sounded so earnest. As though it was something he was trying desperately to believe himself. “I just—I know I can get it to work. I made the damned thing. I can fix—“

“Don’t,”Rhodey had all but snarled. Steve had a feeling they’d had this conversation before. “Don’t you fucking dare say it. _You don’t need fixing, Tony_.” Steve had reared back from that sentence and everything it implied. Like a coward, he’d run out of the compound and out into the woods. It had taken him hours to find his way back, and even then he’d desperately wanted to be out again.

To know that Tony was back to that. That they’d pushed him to that again after _months_ of not having to see the bags under his eyes and the pinched expression on Rhodey’s face. He’d looked after Harley long after the boy had disappeared around the corner. He’d tried to ask FRIDAY after her boss, but she’d stayed resolutely silent.

But it wasn’t until the tenth day when everything came to a head. It should have been obvious that something had to give, but nobody knew how to proceed. After the fourth day, Tony had gone completely radio silent. He’d even revoked Rhodey and the kids’ access to the workshop. Harley and Peter still brought him meals, and found the plates outside. According to them, this was a huge improvement since the last time he’d gone like this. It still worried Steve sick, however, to know that he was down there with that blasted machine.

He’d been cutting into his pancake stack when the baby began to fuss. Peter, who’d been holding him while Cooper fed him tiny morsels of the pancakes on his plate, had looked up with a panicked expression. Laura had left Cassie to herself as she made her way to the baby, and picked him up. She began to bounce him around and hum under her breath. Steve had seen her do it several times before, and it worked like a charm every time. Except, apparently, today.

“Shhh, baby, what’s wrong?” Worry began to seep into her voice, and the others could do nothing but look on, helplessly, as Baby Barton continued to fuss. Laura pressed a hand to his forehead to check his temperature, but he only shook it off with a miserable frown.

“S—S—S’eve,” Baby Bart whimpered against her shoulder.

The soldier froze with his fork halfway to his mouth. The baby had never, and he means _never_, asked for him before. He’d been trying names for the past few days, but his hadn’t come up since that time during lunch. Now, the baby rubbed his forehead against his mother’s shoulder and whimpered his name again.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Harley said with a pointed look. “Baby Bart wants you!”

Steve numbly got up from his chair, and approached the baby and his mother. You’d think he was approaching a feral animal with the expression etched in his face. He could feel the kids looking at him as he extended his arms for the baby. Nate let go of his mother’s blouse when he felt himself be lifted, and then latched onto Steve’s. Recalling his baby sitter days when he was still a little runt, Steve began to sway from side to side.

Baby Barton merely clutched him tighter; pitiful little sniffles that broke his heart pressed against his chest. Steve moved one big hand over his tiny back, hoping to sooth him, and for a moment it worked. Clint walked into the kitchen and immediately moved to his side when he saw his baby in distressed. Nate waved a tiny hand at him, but didn’t let go of Steve’s shirt. When Clint tried to take him, he began to fuss again.

“’Onny,” the baby said brokenly. Steve froze, and everyone else did the same. After the last few weeks of Barton’s anger and jealousy everyone expected a meltdown. The baby sensed the tension in the room and merely fussed more. “Wan’ Unc’a ‘Onny. Dada, Unc’a ‘Onny.”

“He’s not here right now, buddy,” Clint said softly while pushing the baby’s fringe off his forehead.

Steve stared at his friend with wide eyes. This was a complete three-sixty from the past _months._ The soldier was desperate to ask what they had talked about to incite such a change, but luckily kept his mouth shut. He bounced the baby in his arms a little more desperately as he fussed harder, his cries louder and more heartbreaking.

“Pweese,” he said, and then the worst came. Up until then, Steve had merely looked at the top of his head or his tiny profile. All he’d been able to see where the tear tracks and his rosy cheeks. Now, though, Baby Nate looked up at him with watery brown eyes and the most adorable pout on his face. Heartbreak was written all over the kid’s face, and Steve felt a pang in his chest. “S’eve, Unc’a ‘Onny.”

“FRIDAY, where’s Tony?” Laura’s voice sounded a little desperate. Steve didn’t know how she’d even gotten the words out. His own throat felt as dry as a desert.

“I’m afraid he’s not in the tower at the moment, Boss Lady,” the AI’s voice sounds humanly distressed.

“Where is he?” Steve snaps, and then presses his lips to the baby’s head as he whimpers again. He feels his heart beating frantically against his chest. Tony hadn’t left the facility in the _days_, and suddenly he goes out? His eyes snap at Peter and sees the panic in the teenager’s eyes as well. “When did he go out?”

“Boss left the tower approximately forty five minutes ago,” her voice is as frosty as it always is when she addresses him. He has no time to feel hurt over that because he’s steadily working his way to panic. Where in the hell could Tony have gone?

“Where did he go? He’s not answering his phone,” Peter is tapping at his device frantically as Harley does some complicated finger movements over a StarkPad.

“I am not in liberty to—“

“Potato-Mark45-Mandarin Orange, I need to know where the mechanic went,” Harley says forcefully as he throws his device on the table. Clearly he had been unsuccessful in his search. Steve recognizes the words as one of Tony’s ridiculous command codes.

“Sir is at Green-Wood, hobbit,” she says resignedly.

Steve doesn’t feel at all comforted by the worry in the children’s eyes.

“Is today—“Harley begins

“No, it’s still months away. He said—“

“But that doesn’t make any—“

“Does Rhodey know about—“

“He’s at therapy. Do you think—“

“Try his phone. I can’t seem to—“

“We need to go,” Harley breaks up, finally. He throws his chair back and begins to grab his tablet and phone as Peter shovels the last of his pancake into his mouth.

They have to go past Steve, however, and the soldier doesn’t feel like being left out of the loop right now. he knows he told Sam that he would let them do things at their pace, but goddamn it. he’s so fucking worried about Tony right now. and clearly, wherever he is is cause for concern in the boys that care so much about him. Clearly he hasn’t been okay for the past few days, and leaving him alone probably hadn’t helped as much as they’d hoped.

“Whoa,” he says as he throws an arm to catch Harley around the torso, and readjusts Baby Bart on his other arm. “Slow down a bit. What is Green-Wood?”

“Move,” is all Harley says as he tries to move past. Steve plants himself and refuses. _No, you move_, he thinks for a second. Somehow, he doesn’t think this is what Peggy meant.

“No, tell me where you’re going.”

“Didn’t you hear? We have to go.” Peter says angrily.

“We understand that,” Clint says calmly while taking Nate from Steve. Their eyes meet, and the understanding that they’ve had from countless missions passes between them. For this, they need to work together. For this, they need to calm the kids down. “We just want to know why what FRIDAY said scared you so much. If you tell us, we can help.”

“Like you helped when you talked to him?” Cooper’s voice is venomous from his place at the table. His hands are fisted over the table, one of them clutching his fork, and he glares daggers at his father. Steve can feel the archer tense. “You sent him near a panic attack. Is that helping? Is that what you want to do now?”

“Son, I’m just trying—“

“Don’t call me that,” the boy says angrily. Steve can recognize a smoke screen when he sees one, though, and the pain in the boy’s eyes is clear. Clint merely stares at him. “Stop acting like you care about Uncle Tony, or any of us. You only care about the witch, and yourself. You’ve been so mad at him this whole time. You’re probably the reason he is where he is, and you never even cared! So stop acting like you do!” He glares for a second longer, his lip trembling, before he rushes out of the room.

Clint stares after him a second, clearly debating whether following him or not would work, before he comes to a decision. His eyes seek Steve’s, to see if he can deal with the Tony situation alone, and then rushes after his son when the soldier nods. Laura looks torn before Steve motions with his head for her to follow them. She asks that he call her when he finds their wayward genius before following her boys.

“All right, now tell me what you know. Where is Green-Wood?”

“Brooklyn,” Harley says sullenly when it is clear they’ll have to go through Steve to get wherever it is they want to go. The blond raises his eyebrow at the boy, but he refuses to meet his eyes. So, instead, he looks at Peter.

“It’s a cemetery,” Peter says with about as much enthusiasm as his friend.

Steve feels the ground drop from beneath his feet. _Cemetery. Brooklyn. _Oh, fuck.

“He’s—“

“His parents,” the boys confirm for him.

Steve feels his own panic climbing, then. He can recall only one instance when Tony willingly talked about his parents before the fall out in Siberia. One instance when he had been drunk off his ass and delirious with grief. Steve remembers how the mere mention of Howard was enough to send the genius retracting into his shell; remembers the instances where pushing too much had led to days of black-out windows in the workshop and a haggard Tony at the end of them. When all these thoughts catch up to him, he begins to frantically think about what date it is.

“It’s not December, is it?” and the tone of his voice is pleading. Because it can’t be. It would just make everything so much worse.

“No, we thought we still had months,” Peter is frantically tapping at his phone again. “There’s no reason for him to be at Green-Wood right now. He hates that place. I don’t know—“Peter runs a nervous hand through his hair, and Harley steps closer to the teenager.

Steve feels unease trickle into his stomach just watching them. They’re clearly worried about their wayward genius, and he’s probably about to be yelled that. Scratch that, he’s pretty sure Peter might call out the suit so he can beat his ass, but he has to do it. Tony has been hiding away for days, and clearly giving him space wasn’t their best course of action. He could be hurt, if not physically then at least emotionally, and God knows what state of mind he’s on. He could be such an easy target out there, alone, in _goddamn Brooklyn _of all places.

He takes a deep breath and steels himself for their reactions. “I’ll go get him back.”

“Like hell—“

“Are you fucking crazy?”

That last one was Peter, and Steve gives him an unimpressed look. He doesn’t look at all chastised, and is working his way up to incredibly pissed, if the flush climbing up his cheeks is any indication. Steve doesn’t care about their hurt feelings at the moment, however, because now they’re just wasting time. Someone has to go after Tony, and he’d be damned if he sends two kids alone into the city. More than that, though, he feels as though he owes it to the genius. Tony has spent entirely too much time running after _him_. It’s about time Steve does the same.

“I’m not about to send you out there on your own. No, Peter,” Steve says with an authoritative tone. “Believe it or not, you two are still just kids. I know you go out on patrol, okay, and you’re doing incredibly well, all things considered. But you wouldn’t be going out as Spider-Man, right? It’d just be Peter Parker out there with a civilian. What would you do if someone tries to pick you off the street and Harley is with you? Not to mention the fact that if some asshole with a camera gets a shot of you and Tony, then what? How do you even begin to explain that? It’d be a PR nightmare, all three of us know that, and definitely the last thing Tony would need right now.” The boys still look like they want to tear him limb from limb, though that’s how they’ve looked for the past few days of the genius’s isolation, so he soldiers on. “Let me go bring him back. Once he’s safe in the tower, he’ll need you.” The boys look at each other, and steve knows they’re about to argue, so he tries his last card. “Please, just let me do this. I have to the right thing, just this once, I have to prove myself to him.”

There’s a bit of silence, the boys do whatever nonverbal communication they’ve learned, and then Peter places a hand on Harley’s shoulder. The boy seems to deflate, and gives the oldest a weak nod. Steve tries to calm the frantic beating of his heart.

“You just go get him, and bring him back,” Steve opens his mouth to agree quickly, but Peter cuts him off. “_Try_ not to be an asshole to him, okay?”

He can’t even muster the energy to pretend offense that, like Sam, that seems to be the first image of him when it comes to interacting with Tony.

Green-Wood has an entrance like a castle. It’s opulent and grandiose, and it makes Steve completely uncomfortable. He’d read about it back in his time, when some rich person died and the obituary was printed in the papers. He knows he would have worked ten life-times and never had been able to afford dying to be buried here. It’s completely the right place for Howard to be laid to rest, what he would have chosen, but Steve can’t think that this is just the _wrong_ place for Tony to be at.

Finding the Starks’ lost takes him a while. The place is big, and there are twists and turns, and long stretches of dilapidated headstones. He forces himself not to read them, irrationally afraid that he might know some of them, and pushes forward on his quest. At some point, he finds a groundskeeper to ask for directions. The old gentleman stares at him with narrow eyes, but eventually points him in the right direction. Maybe he gets a lot of tourists. Smart men and ladies who like him for his inventions, maybe even swear in their name the way Tony does with Tesla, or the curious masses who liked that he was handsome and elegant and probably didn’t care about his brain.

Or maybe Steve is confusing father with son again, and he really needs to stop.

Steve notices the tombstone before anything else. Even from yards away, he knows he’s reached the right place. There’s a statue of Howard’s old roadster, made out of marble, sitting atop his grave. The side of Steve’s mouth ticks up before he can help it as he remembers the incredible sight of that levitating car. It fits him, he supposes, too ahead of its time to properly work right.

Before he can focus on anything else, though, he sees the figure standing in front of the tomb. Tony has his eyes shielded by sunglasses, and he’s wearing his now-customary three piece suit. It’s a light blue, though, with a white shirt and a darker pocket handkerchief. It’s a definite contrast to the somber colors Steve has hated to see on him lately. His arms are wrapped tightly around his middle, and his head is vowed. Steve cautiously approaches him, and he realizes two things that send his pulse thumping.

Tony is shaking like a leaf despite the pleasant weather.

And his lips are moving.

Steve increases his speed, not because he wants to eavesdrop, but because his friend is so far from okay a mere stranger could see it. There are tear tracks on his cheeks, and his hands spasmodically tighten on his suit jacket. The soldier doesn’t know how he’s even standing at the moment, but he can’t concentrate on that because he steps on a twig and Tony whirls around.

Steve braces himself to be yelled at and cursed. He closes his eyes against the flurry of words that may come out of Tony’s mouth. He doesn’t know what to expect, really. It could be the hot, burning curses and yells or even worse, Tony’s cold, precise jabs. He thinks he’d rather have the former; they tend to hurt less. What he doesn’t expect is for the genius to take a long, hard look at him and turn back to his parents.

The blond gulps against his suddenly dry throat and moves to stand beside his friend. Not too close because even he, as emotionally blind as he is, can recognize how fragile the other man is. He would never forgive himself if he were to send Tony into yet another panic attack at a moment like this. So instead, he tries to take in as much detail as he can.

_Wrong, wrong, wrong_, is what keeps chanting through his mind as his eyes roam over the headstone. Howard’s name and dates of birth, and death, are written in elegant gold script. They’re… well, big, is the only word that comes to mind. They stand out on the marble, and he knows it was intended to be that way. To call attention to the legend of Howard Stark, the man be damned, but what holds his attention is what’s written underneath.

_Maria Stella Carbonell Stark._

_Wife, Philanthropist, Loving Mother._

_Loving mother_, Steve feels sick looking at the words. More than that, he thinks of how wrong it is to be standing here. He feels an overwhelming sense of guilt, though Maria hadn’t died by his hand, he still feels responsible.

_I am so, so sorry, _he thinks as he stares at the words. He doesn’t dare look at Tony, can’t bear to see the hatred and resentment on the other man’s face. Any anger of his own at how the mechanic had reacted to the truth, any misguided self-righteousness, vanishes in the face of the woman’s memory. He didn’t have to have met her, he’s done plenty of research on her, has heard Tony drunkenly ramble about his mother in the moments when Steve had been privy to his most vulnerable moments.

He tries to think of something to say to the other man, but nothing comes to mind. _Where are my words now, Sam?_ He thinks almost hysterically. He doesn’t have to, though, because after a deep breath Tony speaks.

“She would have hated it,” he says it so quietly it almost gets drowned out by the rustling leaves. Steve turns to look at him, to show that he, for once, is listening. It’s about damn time he starts. “It’s so… ostentatious. She would have despised all of this,” he waves vaguely at the tomb. “I let her down, even after she died, I still kept letting her down.”

“I doubt she would have thought that about you,” Steve says softly. It’s a Hail Mary attempt, he knows, because he hasn’t done anything to make the genius believe that. He can’t unsay it, though, because he knows that it’s the truth.

“The day she—“Tony’s voice breaks and withers, and Steve has to clench his hands at his sides. God damn him. “The day she left, she wanted me to mend things with Howard. She knew he’d never do it, he was never wrong, but God I could see it in her eyes. She wanted it us to be okay, it would have Christmas when they were back, and she’d always loved it. I knew what she wanted from me, but I pretended not to see it. I let them walk away knowing I’d let her down.”

“I’m sure she understood, Tony,” Steve says barely above a whisper. He forgets, always forgets, how much guilt the mechanic carries with him. Guilt about what he’s done, but also about all the things he couldn’t change. He always forgets how much Tony takes onto his shoulders that shouldn’t be his burden. “She must have loved you enough to know that. From the way you’ve spoken about her, I know that much even if never met her in person.”

“Is that why?” Tony says, and there’s a bite to the words but it’s not as harsh as it usually is nowadays. The soldier braces himself for what is to follow. It’s his due, anyway, he dug this grave all on his own. “Because you didn’t know her? Is that why it was so easy for you to… to lie? You didn’t know her?” Steve opens his mouth to answer though the panic in his mind doesn’t let him think of any coherent response, but Tony continues with a harsh, bitter laugh. “What am I even talking about? Even if you’d known her there’s no guarantee you would have _cared_ at all.”

They stand in silence. Tony because he seems to have run out of steam, out of will to fight, and Steve because the pressure in his chest of the guilt and heartache makes it impossible for him to even breathe. He wants to vehemently refuse in that instant, wants to be angry at Tony for even suggesting that he would care so little about someone who obviously meant so much to him, but the hypocrisy of it leaves a bitter taste on his tongue. Maybe that’s part of why, and he never allowed himself to voice that selfish thought. Maybe he hadn’t told Tony about Bucky because he’d assumed the man’s dislike for his father would translate to his mother. Maybe one of the reasons he’d bit his tongue so many times was because, to him and his selfishness, Maria had been nothing more than an idea.

He had failed the man before him much more than he could have ever imagined, he knows. He might as well have been the man to wrap his fingers around Maria’s neck. There are so many ways for someone to die, he realizes, that go for far longer than their physical death. And now, seeing Tony shaking and biting his lip bloody in his attempt to keep his emotions in check, he realizes that he may have more than just blood on his hands.

“I don’t know that I would have done things differently,” Steve says after a long stretch of silence. It feels stupid and inadequate and endlessly cruel, but… he’d thought telling the truth to his friend was cruel, too, and look at where they were now. He’d taken so much from Tony, his trust and openness, the team, hell, maybe even his sanity… the least he could do is give him his honesty. Blood shot eyes, full of surprised hurt, turn to him. Steve swallows and trains his eyes on Maria’s name. “I’m too stubborn, too pigheaded sometimes, to see beyond what I think is right. It used to be good, that tenacity, or at least that’s what I wanted to believe, but now, after… I thought I was doing the right thing, protecting Bucky like he used to protect me when I was smaller. He was vulnerable, his mind cracked open and everything in shambles. I’ve felt like that before, well maybe not exactly like that, but I understood what it was like to wake up somewhere I couldn’t recognize and feel like I didn’t even know which way was up, so finding out what had been done to him and what would have happened to him—“

“Is that how you saw me?” Steve’s eyes snap up to the brunet’s at the hitch in his voice. he doesn’t know where he went wrong, again, but it looks like he’d stepped on another landmine. Tony—well, he looks _heartbroken_. Steve stretches a hand to touch his upper arm, give him those old friendly squeezes that managed to bring him down from a screaming match, before, but Tony’s panicked eyes snap down to his hand as he takes a hasty step back. “Is that how it was?” his voice is as close to yelling as Steve has heard it and it sends the alarm bells ringing in Steve’s head immediately. “Like you were supposed to protect him from me like he did for you? From the bullies? Is that how it was for _us_? Is that what I am to you, Steve? _A bully?_” the blond is shaking his head vehemently before Tony has even finished talking. “When did that happen?” Tony’s eyes are unfocused in a way that makes Steve sick; he’s seen this before. Dear God, has he ever. “When did us against the world become you against _me_?” the last word is said like a whisper that manages to make his knees weak.

Steve surges forward without thinking, the consequences be damned, to cradle Tony’s head in his hands and make the other man meet his eyes. The mechanic begins struggling immediately, his eyes wide and fearful and most likely trapped in a memory of Steve’s making, but Steve can feel his hands shaking. He tightens his hold on Tony’s cheeks and angles his head up so that his eyes meet the soldier’s. He doesn’t know if this will still work or if the mechanic has too much fear in him, in _them_, that it will make the panic worse, but it was the only thing that he thought to do. Tony’s hands scramble to grasp one of the blonde’s wrists and grab a handful of his t-shirt. Though, Steve notices with so much relief his knees threaten to buckle, he’s not pushing him away. He’s simply holding on. Dear God, Steve would stand just like this for the rest of his life if it let Tony find some semblance of peace.

“You have _never_ been a bully, Tony Stark, you understand?” the other man’s eyes are wide with panic and hurt still, but Steve continues. “Somewhere along the way we lost sight of the family we had become, I understand that, and I need you to see it, too. I didn’t agree with the Accords, a part of me never will despite the amendments, shh, listen—“Tony had reared back though he hadn’t broken the soldier’s hold on his head. “Listen, I will never think that anyone else’s hands are safer than our own, but—Tony, what happened in Sokovia and—and Lagos—just, everything—“Steve swallows the lump in his throat.

“My fault,” Tony croaks out. His eyes have that glassy unfocused look that Steve remembers from his panic attacks. He wonders if this is the same look Tony got in that bunker in Siberia when they met the Maximoff twins, he wonders if anyone would have noticed or if anyone would have cared. He has to bite his cheek to not curse at the unfairness of it all. “All those people died because of me. Because of my fear. I killed them, Steve, don’t you see? I killed them, and if there had been any way for anyone to shut me down before I made Ultron, everyone would have been fine. Tasha, Bruce… Charlie would still be alive if I hadn’t—“

Steve covers Tony’s babbling mouth with a shaking hand. The other man is working himself into knots, something that Steve has never seen him do despite the fact that he has been witness to Tony’s panic attacks. His hands have dropped from his contact with Steve and he’s clawing at his forearms with increasing intensity, he’s close to hyperventilating and the manic way his eyes are darting around them makes Steve feel incredibly unsettled. _This_, he thinks fearfully_, this is the Tony Stark nobody gets to see. _

He does the only thing he can think off that that is grab one of Tony’s hands, he makes a mental note to tend to the scratches on the other man’s arms once he’s calmed down enough, and place it on his chest. He crowds against Tony and hunches himself to make a safe space in the vastness of the cemetery. He mumbles comfortingly and takes in exaggerated breaths to allow Tony to focus on them and begin to calm down. It takes a while, far longer than Steve is truly comfortable with, before Tony’s trembling winds down enough for the brunette to step away. He plays with the cuffs of his long sleeve and refuses to meet Steve’s eyes.

The blond stares at him for a while as the other man begins to try to pull himself together. It’s incredible, how apt Tony is at sealing all the cracks with temporary glue and slap varnish on top to make the façade look genuine. He wonders how the genius has done this; how often he’d show up with a ready one liner and cocky smirk, and then go back home and fall apart on a big tower or mansion all on his own. He wonders how many times he’s said a cutting word to make the world go away so that he can shatter in peace. More than that, he wonders how many times himself or another member of the team have provided that last cutting word to make the great Tony Stark tumble.

“Tony, who is Charlie?” It’s only because his eyes are roaming all over the other man’s face that he notices the immediate tension. A stranger wouldn’t have noticed because Tony is just that good. Less than five minutes ago he was breaking apart at the seams, and now there he stands. The futurist, the playboy, the genius… untouchable. God. “Please, don’t lie.”

“I’m not the one with that particular bad habit,” the other man replies immediately, though Steve is beginning to clue in. If the retort is that fast it means that Tony has learned that a berating is coming and he has rehearsed for it. They have done each other so much damage.

“Please,” is all Steve says because he knows now. He knows that Tony will lash out and _hurt_ if he’s confronted with authority. He will bite and tear if anyone attempts to dominate him. Steve wonders if Howard had demanded nothing but obedience from his son, if had abused his power over a child, to make Tony so weary and resentful of anyone who believes themselves above him.

“Charlie Spencer,” Tony says reverently.

The truth drops on Steve like an anvil. He remembers that conversation; remembers the flippancy and matter-of-fact way Tony had talked about the kid. How he’d mentioned he’d been crushed on the battlefield in Sokovia; “we dropped a building on him,” Tony had said. He’d been trying to explain the Accords, trying to tell them why they were necessary, when everyone had already made up their mind. When _Steve_ had already had a no on the tip of his tongue. He’d never questioned the how or why of Tony knowing about that story. He’d never bothered to know why Charlie Spencer had ever come to pass the genius’s lips. Now, _now_, it seems like one of the most important truths.

“His mother spoke to me after that presentation at MIT where my prepubescent self made itself public,” Tony chuckles mirthlessly. Steve bites his tongue at his immediate thought of _where you made the dreams of every kid in that room come true_. He will not win this battle, not now that he has caused too much pain, to make Tony see himself in any kind of flattering light. “She had a picture of Charlie, old school glossy paper and everything, and she told me his story. She was so proud of that kid, I could see it, and I was too. Young Americans going out there and doing good with nothing more than their brains? I could be born a thousand times over, and never amount to half of their good work.”

Self-loathing drips out of Tony’s words despite his cavalier tone. How had he not noticed that? How had nobody clued in to the fact that every time the genius listed his shortcomings it wasn’t looking for adulation, but had merely been confirming what he already thought of himself? _“Big man in a suit of armor, take that off and what are you?”_ and the practiced, flippant rebuttal of that statement. The hollow way in which he said the words. Christ, but what an idiot he’d been. So no, Tony didn’t go out there and build houses for the poor. Instead he gave. Of his money, of his time, of his company, of his suit, of his mind, of his heart, of his _life_. He just gave and gave and gave without ever thinking it would amount to anything. _And he didn’t see it. _

“How did she find you?” Steve asks.

Tony finally meets his eyes in confusion. Obviously, he had never thought to ask himself this question. He’d just accepted the fact that a random woman had walked to him to confront him about his son. Steve doubts the words murderer hadn’t passed her lips. He wonders how many of these incidents Tony was subjected to on a regular basis.

“I don’t see how that’s important,” the genius said coldly.

Steve refused to back down, though, because here it was. The missing piece he could have never found on his own. the reason he’d been kept up at night since they’d parted ways. He’d questioned the whys of Tony’s choices for months, and here it was. Why had Tony sided with the Accords, with Ross of all people, after everything? After SHIELD and his own dealings with Congress? What made him snap?

“Tony, think about it. Where did she find you?”

“Backstage. I was on my way to the car after my presentation. I was alone because Pep—“ his voice breaks and he has to clear his throat. Steve ignores the pang of jealousy the action brings and concentrates on Tony’s always-expressive eyes. The other man seems to be coming out of his haze. “Pepper was gone. So I was making my way to the elevator to meet Happy at the underground garage in the conference hall.”

“Yes, but how did she get there, Tony? Wouldn’t she need clearance? What about your security detail? You said it yourself, Happy is a stickler for badges, remember?” Tony’s mouth ticks up at the corner at the mention of that tidbit. It would be endearing if Steve weren’t so focused at the moment. He _needs_ Tony to see it. “Tony, please, think about it. Why in the world would she be there? Did you advertise it?”

“Only within the campus. It’s my alma mater, and I know how much those nerds fight for funding. Pep and I actually started a fund to expand it to other schools. Caltech, Stanford, Michigan, schools like that, but that day no. it was just for the students. I don’t see—“

“So how did she get there, Tony?” Steve says slowly. He’s beginning to see the horrible truth of it, and he hates Ross more than anything at that moment. He hates the man for every goddamn thing he’s done. For what the truth will most likely do to the genius. “Tony, she had no badge, no clearance, no checks, nothing. How could she have found you backstage? You were alone, yes?” At Tony’s silent nod, Steve mimics him and continues softly. “She wouldn’t have found you without help.”

“Help? Rogers, be serious. Why would anyone do that? She wouldn’t be the first person to blame me for a tragedy, okay? It’s not like it was an isolated incident.” Tony rolls his eyes as if finds the whole thing ridiculous. Steve has to reign his temper at the confirmation that, _yes_, Tony does in fact deal with shit like that all the time and nobody had known.

“But how many of those people find you alone and isolated, huh? How many of those people find you completely alone? Tony,” Steve grabs hold of his shoulders though he resists the urge to shake the other man. “What did she say to you?”

“She said I’d murdered her child, okay?” Tony finally tears himself away and wraps his arms around his middle. “She told me her kid was dead, and that she blamed me. We’re the Avengers, right? We are supposed to avenge people; that’s what I said to Loki. But what the hell good does it do to Avenge someone when they’re _dead_ because of you? Huh, Rogers? Can you answer that? What the fuck is so great about avenging someone when they’re dead and you could have stopped it?!” the last word is a yell, and a few birds nearby take flight.

_You were all dead and it was his fault_, Wanda’s voice says in his head. So this was it. This is what makes the great Tony Stark destroy himself. Not a kidnapping, not a terrorist cell, not open heart surgery, not even betrayal… _this_ is what tears him down. The guilt of his mistakes; guilt he shouldn’t even have to carry alone.

“It wasn’t your fault,” and when he says it Steve realizes that it’s the first time the words have left his mouth. He squares his shoulders and forces Tony to meet his eyes when the other man makes a move as if he’s going to argue. “You hear me, Tony Stark? Ultron was not your fault alone, and we were a failure of a team for ever making you think it was. We failed you, Tony, and I can only hope that you will let us try again. As a team. As a family. Together. And the Accords? You were doing what you thought was best, and I didn’t listen. I won’t even pretend as though I thought about your reasons. I decided that you were wrong, and refused to compromise. That’s not what a leader does, that is not what a partner does, and that is certainly not what a friend does.”

“I tried to kill Bucky,” Tony sees and Steve sees it with an aching heart. the way Tony is saying it as though he expects another fight. Like he’s saying it with a knowledge in his heart that Steve will lash out and hurt him. Even now, there’s a distinct separation in his mind of the people Steve will fight _for_ and _against_. Tony Stark thinks he knows exactly where he is.

“Despite what you may believe, my friend,” Steve says and he has to fight down the burning in his eyes. “You are not a murderer. Besides, I have fought alongside you long enough to know what the suit is capable of, Tony. You’ve torn down aliens with your repulsors, and you want me to believe I stood any change to fight you and win? You weren’t the one fighting that battle to _win_, Tony. That was _me_ and I was _wrong._ And I know you don’t believe me, okay, but you let me prove to you that despite everything I am still your friend.”

“I don’t know how,” Tony says truthfully, and Steve loses the battle. He grabs hold of the shorter man and pulls him to his chest and grips tight. He doesn’t know how he’ll ever manage to let go. He doesn’t really want to.

“It’s all right, Tony,” Steve says with conviction. He swears on his Ma’s grave that he’ll try to be what his family deserves. Finally. “We’ll work on it.”

“Together?” Tony says tentatively. One of his hands, though, oh those calloused long fingers, grabs hold of Steve’s t-shirt with the same fervor the soldier is holding onto him. Steve hides his smile on the riot of curs atop his head.

“Yeah, Shellhead, together.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few things:  
A) if anyone out there still cares about this fic i am so sorry it has taken so long. I've been battling a terrible writer's block, the utter shit that is my job, college stuffs and my depression wrecking absolute havoc on me. This has literally taken months to write.   
B) i apologize for this not being the much anticipated showdown with bird boy but i didn't think i would do it justice in my current state of mind + this idea came to mind and it. would. not. go. away. So here we are. Sorry if it's shitty.   
C) If anyone has found me on Tumblr lately as of today i am off it (deleted the app on my phone and everything) because honestly my writing and Tony are some of the only things that bring me joy lately and having that much hate and vitriol is honestly just making shit worse.   
Anyway, long rant, but the gist of it is that i hope i can write the next chapter soon. i'm gonna have to re read this whole thing again to get my bearings lol   
Anyway please enjoy, and hopefully i'll get through the comments some time this century. As always, incredibly indebted to you all and your support.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They have been connected far longer than they thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BECAUSE FUCK THE MCU FOR TAKING THIS FROM TONY TOO.

Tony doesn’t know what to say for a good thirty minutes after him and Steve separate. He wants to smirk at his father’s grave and point out that he has finally been rendered speechless. It had annoyed Howard, _so much_, when he’d been young and excitable. He’d been knuckle-rapped in the head on more than one occasion for letting his mouth run ahead of him. It seemed as though it was literally the job of a super soldier to make him shut his mouth.

It feels so strange to be standing next to Steve in his way. He doesn’t even mean the fact that the soldier has yet to let go of him, one arm like a vice around him waist, fingers flexing around his hip. No, what he means is that it’s strange to be standing _next_ to the blond rather than be chasing behind. It feels as though that’s what he’s been doing all his life is chasing behind the super soldier or standing behind him, right in his shadow. Even after he’d been thawed out and he was no longer just a legend, Tony had never quite felt like they were equal. While Steve had been accepted right into SHIELD, he was always at odds. He would have bet half his fortune that, had they had a need for a dossier on the soldier, the words selfish and textbook narcissism would have never made it anywhere near the soldier’s file. Hell, Steve had fought a war, had probably killed people, but he sure as hell would never had been given a moniker such as “the Merchant of Death.”

Needless to say, being in the presence of the other man had always made Tony feel about an inch tall. So, what had he done? He’d confirmed every ill-conceived word on Natasha’s report. Textbook narcissism? Fine, Tony would plaster on a smile and brag about everything he had ever done; nobody needed to know that he only repeated it like a mantra to reassure himself that he still had the potential to do some good in the world. Selfish? He’d drop half a fortune on meaningless galas and stupid watches. Iron Man, yes? He’d update the suits as much as he could, would butt into SHIELD missions and debriefs to the press just to mock them. Tony Stark, not recommended? He’d pretend like that hadn’t stung and throw a one liner about how much he didn’t want to join their super-secret boy band. Nobody needed to know how much it had hurt, how lower his self-esteem had been, as he thought about how disappointed Aunt Peggy would have been of him if she’d been coherent enough to know.

Thinking about Peggy snaps him out of his daze, and he finally feels inspiration come to him for something other than his self-destruction. He looks at the other man out of the corner of his eye; notices the still-red flush of his cheeks and the dried salt on his cheeks. He bites his lip, trying to decide if maybe this is the best idea at the moment, but now that he’s thought about it he feels as though he can’t contain himself. He _wants_ to share this with the man, he _wants_ to talk to someone who isn’t Rhodey about it, and isn’t that the biggest surprise of it all? That Tony actually _wants_ to talk and have it be meaningful.

“Hey, Steve,” he says quietly. The soldier hmms and tightens his arm around Tony to convey he’s listening. The mechanic’s heart already feels lighter, and he tries to ignore how terrified that makes him. The little voice in the back of his head that warns against trusting the blond again is starting to sound too loud, too insistent, and he ruthless pushes it as far back as he can. At least for now. “I have something that I want to show you.”

“Okay,” the other man says just as quietly. The brunet had expected questions, and he bites his tongue to prevent himself from saying anything. It’s still strange, this trust Steve is placing in him even on the little things, and he doesn’t want to ruin it beforehand. If it has to end, and the pessimistic part of Tony believes that it will, it sure as hell won’t be because of him.

Tony pulls away and motions for Steve to follow him. He kind of wants to hold the other man’s hand, but something keeps him from it. Maybe he’s finally learned, but he feels as though he can’t do this the way things usually go for him. He can’t push and prod and go too fast, burn it all out before he has enjoyed it; he’s already lost Steve once, knows how easy it is, he won’t make the same mistake again. So they walk in companionable silence through the cemetery. Leaving behind the more opulent monuments to wealthy folk long gone, Tony leads Steve to his favorite part of the grounds.

Back when Howard was still heavily involved with SHIELD, before him and Aunt Pegs had their falling out, he’d commissioned a part of the cemetery be laid out for fallen agents. Seeing as most of them worked in covert operations that never met the public eye, he didn’t feel as though they quite belong in DC with the other fallen soldiers. He thought, and Tony still has such a hard time wrapping his head around his father being so _thoughtful_, that it would be better if they stayed home. SHIELD had been founded here, in New York, after all. Most importantly, it had been set up in Brooklyn because of the man now walking right beside Tony. They had felt, Howard and Aunt Peggy both, that nothing would be more fitting. So, here they were. Fallen heroes who’d stopped catastrophes and nobody had ever even known.

Some of the graves were nothing more than symbols. Empty sites and monuments to keep their SHIELD legacy together. Howard had a smaller monument here, too, as a founder. So did Jarvis, a few ways away from his old boss and friend. Tony used to visit him once a week, before things had begun to pile so much on his shoulders that he hadn’t had time to look up and remember everything his fa—butler had taught him. He makes a mental note to come back to chat with J for a bit in the upcoming days; he doesn’t feel like he quite wants to share that much with Steve just yet. Not to mention the fact that he doesn’t think his old friend would be very much impressed with either one of them at the moment.

Instead, Tony leads Steve to the gravesite next to Howard’s. It’s a small monument, with beautifully stylized words carved into its headstone. Tony had, personally, spent _hours_ agonizing over the lettering after the news had hit. If Rhodey is to be believed, he’s been obsessively focused on getting things just right for it. It’s black marble, and the letters etched on it are in flowing silver script. There’s a white marbled sunflower resting atop it, Peggy’s favorites, which Tony had taken great care of to commission perfectly.

The name on the headstone? Agent Margaret Peggy Carter. Founder of SHIELD. It had her birth date and the day they laid her to rest in London. Tony had been here, in Brooklyn, overseeing the marking of the plot and the installation of the symbolic headstone while Steve had laid her on the ground, thousands of miles away. He rubs a hand on his chest absently, trying to get rid of his phantom pain, as he remembers the last news he got from Peggy’s family. They hadn’t thought to call him, and that was fine, he’d never been close to them, anyway. After their falling out, Tony’s contact with Aunt Peggy had diminished to the occasional phone call while Jarvis kept look out. Once Tony had started at MIT, their conversations were sparse as they both became busier and busier. Then, the incident in 1991 had happened, and Peggy had been there. Tony still remembers the strength in her arms and the smell of her perfume, the stickiness of her bright red lipstick on his cheek, and the ticklishness of her hair, streaked in silver, rubbing on his neck. It’s the last time he’d ever see her as she was when he was little, strong and hardheaded and invincible, because he’d fall off the rails soon after that. He’d slick his hair back, and wear sunglasses at night, and do meth and coke and overdose on his antidepressants. He’d wear the badge of playboy and merchant of death with fake pride on his face and bile in his throat. Peggy would be so, _so_ disappointed until her own mind betrayed her. Tony would continue to fall, until Iron Man became him and he got that fateful call from a distant Sharon telling him Aunt Peggy was fading. Tony would visit, constantly at first and then more sparsely as a certain super soldier was reawakened and visited his old lover.

Still, Aunt Peggy would light up at seeing him every time. And, for the first time in forever, Tony wouldn’t even being compared or confused with his father. He’d cherish every stroke of her frail fingers on his goatee and the feel of her breath in his hair as he pulled her close. He’d bring her flowers, sunflowers every time, and read her the sports section of the newspaper and smile at her cursing over yet another loss for the Mets. He’d hold her hand and hum, or sing if she managed to persuade her, as she faded off to sleep. He’d go home and put more money on medical research, equipment, anything to find a way to get her back and fail as he always did. 

He’d fade into the background of her life; her old godson or her old friend visiting her every once in a while when his company allowed him too. She’d mock scold him for the bags under his eyes and the fidgeting of his fingers. She’d tell him about her missions and her old home and always, _always_, give her own stories about Steve Rogers. The unembellished, embarrassing, hilariously human side of the one and only super soldier. The stories Tony used to love as a kid. And she’d fade, and fade, and fade, and Tony would get further and further away from her on his quest to keep the earth safe until Fury called him at three am while he frantically worked on the Accords to tell him the unfortunate news. And although he’d quit months ago for Pepper, and the Avengers, and his quest to _not _be his father, he’d consider drowning himself in the stash he still kept. But then memories of her disappointment and her anger the first time he’d gone down that spiral would resurface and he would refuse to let her down again. He’d already disappointed his mother, distant as she could be at times, he didn’t have the heart to do that to Aunt Peggy, too.

“Hi, Aunt Peggy,” he tells the headstone now and bites his trembling lower lip. Though he knows she’s not there, she’s in London, hell everything that made her the woman he’d loved was somewhere out there in the cosmos far too unreachable even for him, he still felt the need to talk to her. It’s why he’d commissioned her headstone here, despite SHIELD having fallen, because he needed her close. She was the last of his family; the only one to die the way they were meant to, after a full life of love and loss and grief and utter happiness. She’d drifted off on her own, they’d told him, holding the hand of the people whom she loved and who loved her back.

“A-aunt Peggy?” Steve’s voice is a hoarse whisper and Tony’s head snaps up to him. He’d almost forgotten he was there. The soldier is standing stock still next to him, hands in the pocket of his leather jacket, but his chest is rising and falling as though he’s about to start hyperventilating. His eyes are wide, and red rimmed as they look down at Tony and the mechanic doesn’t think he likes the expression there very much. It’s this swirling mix of guilt and sadness and misery that turns his eyes darker and stormy.

“She was my godmother,” Tony says quietly, reverently, like a secret kept close to his heart. Which is exactly how he’s maintained it until now. Peggy was one of the few things that he had ever truly kept as _his_. It’s one of the few things that had never been aired to the public like dirty laundry. Peggy had loved him, he knows, truly loved him, since before he had proven his worth by putting together a circuit board or building an engine. “Before Howard did… whatever it is that he did to destroy their friendship, she helped raise me. She’d drop by to see how I was doing.” Tony smiles his Peggy smile as he stares at her name, though his eyes burn with tears. “She bought me my first toy. I must have been, what, two? She gave me this Captain America action figure; Howard used to say I didn’t have time for toys, but she snuck it in when she was tucking me into bed one time and asked me to keep quiet. She used to do that a lot, you know, keep secrets with me. It made me feel special, I guess, ‘cause Aunt Peggy was so cool. She was my superhero.”

“You knew Peggy,” Steve says, and his voice sounds faint.

“Yeah,” Tony says quietly. “She was around a lot when I was very little. She’d say naughty words about Howard and rib Jarvis to make me smile.” He chuckles at the memory.

“Tony,” Steve’s voice sounds wrecked and it makes the alarm bells in the mechanic’s mind go off in warning. There are actual tears in Steve’s eyes and he doesn’t know what he did or said wrong this time. “Why didn’t you tell me? why weren’t you at the funeral?”

Tony shrugs and tears his eyes away. He doesn’t think he can force the words out. He doesn’t think he can tell Steve that he wasn’t sure how he would react. How he thought maybe he’d think he was mocking him or trying to hurt him by bringing up this secret connection they had. He doesn’t dare to say that, after the effort and all the money he gave to acquire Roosevelt’s pens, he’d felt that any effort at connecting with him would have just hurt them both. He’s not enough of an asshole to say the words and see the pain they’ll cause the other man.

It doesn’t seem to matter, though, because Steve’s puppy dog eyes come out full force. Trembling fingers, soft despite the hours he spends training, cup his chin and make Tony meet his eyes. The mechanic wants to look away, but God they are so blue and so _sincere_, he just can’t. Steve’s other arm wraps around him to bring him closer, and Tony’s hands go up to rest against the other man’s frankly impressive chest.

“I am so sorry, Tony,” Steve says. Earnestly, passionately, clearly sincere. Tony wants to push him away and berate him and scream, but he can’t. he leans forward and for a while second the mechanic thinks he’s about to kiss him, and he’s torn in whether he wants to or not, but the blond merely rests their foreheads together. His eyes are wide open, though, drinking the sight of the other man. Tony could drown in that gaze.

“I was the one who didn’t tell you,” is all that the genius manages.

“And I didn’t bother to ever ask about your family,” Steve husks out while shaking his head gently when Tony opens his mouth to protest. His thumb makes gentle sweeps over Tony’s bottom lip. “Tony, enough. Let me take some of the blame for once. It doesn’t have to be just you.”

The mechanic feels tears well up in his eyes and his throat constrict. He doesn’t have the heart to tell Steve what he’s really thinking. He doesn’t have the energy to look at the guilt and devastation on the other man when he says the words. That he can’t, that he doesn’t know how, and that he’s been cast as the villain so many times that he doesn’t know if he’s just lying to himself when he thinks it’s a lie. That he doesn’t think he’s good, that everything he touches turns to cinders and ashes; he can’t get the words past the lump in his throat. So he does the next best thing. He closes his eyes and leans his head against the soldier’s chest, feels those steel band arms wrap securely around him and clings on. It’s not a solution, not by far, but for right now he just wants to remember his Aunt Peggy with someone else who knew, and loved, and appreciated her as much as he did. He just wants to feel tethered down again after feeling adrift for so long.

Just for a moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short and sweet because i caught feels.   
Also, I've noticed a lot of comments from you guys (I'm trying to respond as best I can but yeah, still depressed and still shitty work so it's slow coming,) apologizing for not having English as your first language, and guys... my dudes, lights of my life, English is not my first language either LOL so don't you worry. I read, re-read, 10000000x read, love, and appreciate every single one of your comments. Thank you for your invaluable support.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One step forward, two steps back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this ended up going in a totally different direction than i thought lol

They spend the rest of the day at the cemetery exchanging stories about their mothers. The mechanic isn’t particularly inclined to talk about his father, but talking about his Mama makes the tight knot in his chest loosen a little bit. Steve has plenty to say about Sarah Rogers and her no-nonsense policies. After a couple of hours, Tony’s holding his sides from how much he is laughing at Steve’s latest story about his mother. Apparently, tiny Stevie Rogers had had quite a mouth on him when he got riled up. Mrs. Rogers had refused to _have a bad mouthed hooligan for a son, Steven_ and taken any and every opportunity to wash his mouth out with soap.

“I swear it!” Steve says after they’ve both caught their breath. “She’d say it was for ma own good, but I dunno ‘bout that seeing as she was very, uh, diligent about it. That woman had one heck of a hearin’ though,” the blond says fondly. Tony has noted that his accent thickens when he’s talking about his Ma, as he calls her, still. “I’m half convinced the only reason mine’s so good ‘s ‘cause’a her.”

“I’d think you’re lying if it weren’t for the fact that I know how awful getting your mouth washed out with soap actually is,” Tony says with a small smile. He doesn’t know why he feels the need to share with the other man now, but he decides to take that small leap of faith. His resolve to be stoic and cold towards the blond has already crumbled, didn’t even really last anyway, but now… well, most of their problems stemmed from how utter shit they are at talking to each other so maybe it’s time that they learn to actually _communicate_.

Huh, would you look at that? He might actually be maturing a bit. And it only took yet another near death experience and betrayal to do it. Still, progress.

“Yeah?” the other man says as he leans back with his hands on the grass. Tony’s slacks are easily worth five hundred dollars, but the delighted look on Steve’s face since he’d asked him to stay along made him forget about his complaints or Pepper’s reaction to him ruining another pair of his work slacks.

“Yeah, I made the mistake of calling this scrap of metal I was working on a useless piece of shit. I must have been, what, six? And then Jarvis walked in with this severely disappointed frown on his face. I don’t think I’ve run as fast as I did that day. I wasn’t fast enough,” Tony says, throwing the blond a grin. “He was one tall gentleman, and he easily grabbed me and scooped me up and took me to the kitchen. The worst part was that Ana was there, so I was forced to hear as he recounted my little tantrum and then he handed me over. Ana was _brutal._”

“Ana?” Steve prompts, there’s a grin on his face and his eyes are soft, and bright blue.

“Jarvis’s wife,” Tony explained with a fond shake of his hand. “She was our cook until she got too sick to keep going; even then she commandeered the kitchen every time she dropped by. She was one tough lady, and just as pretty as Mama. She was,” he breaks off with a chuckle and from the corner of his eye he sees Steve’s smile transform. He looks utterly _delighted._ “She was the one that taught me how to throw a punch. But anyway, I’m digressing. So there I was, being unceremoniously carried into the kitchen, kicking my little hobbit legs to make Jarvis let go of me when I see her. I swear to God, I just went _limp_, Steve! I saw her and it was like something in my mind resigned itself it its fate and was just like _nope!_ She took one look at me and Jarvis’s long suffering look and then held her arms out. Now, usually, I’d be all up for her to carry me… I… well,” his voice falters as his father’s voice echoes in his head. He shakes his head hard to dispel the sound. “Well, let’s just say Daddy dearest wasn’t too kin on people _babying me_,” he spits out. “But oh, did I know what it meant. Jarvis just looked at me and said ‘you know the drill, young man,’ he only called me that when he wasn’t too happy with me. So,” he shakes his head again and pretends the moisture in the corner of his eyes isn’t there. “I got to know what soap tastes like real quick.”

Steve is chuckling softly next to him, but when Tony turns to look at him there is sadness in his eyes. His hand is closer to Tony’s than it had been, and though the mechanic is happy about their proximity, there’s still something inside him that is screaming for him to get away. To put as much distance between himself and the soldier lest he get hurt again. He vehemently tells that part to shut up, but where he would have gotten closer before to see where the boundaries are, now he just makes a show of scratching his nose before replacing his hand on the grass, away from the soldier’s. He doesn’t miss the way Steve fists at the grass. He swallows hard and looks away.

“They sound like remarkable people,” the blond says after a moment of silence. “I’m glad you had them.”

Tony just hums, the grief still a little too close in his heart despite how long it has been since he’s lost them. He blinks up at the sky, that distrustful part of him still too weary to show much around Steve, especially too afraid of letting the man see him this vulnerable. “Losing Mama was,” Tony shakes his head and bites his lip bloody. Steve’s hands tear at the dirt under his palms. “I never thought anything would hurt as much as that did. I know you probably think I’m an asshole for saying it, but losing Howard didn’t really change much in my life; I suppose I was sad,” he says a little louder when Steve opens his mouth as if to speak, a distressed look on his face. “But most of all I _thought_ I was free of… of the overbearingness that came from having him tell me that I was his _legacy_. God, was I wrong,” he laughs, a harsh sound that breaks out of his chest unbidden. “So when we discovered that Ana wasn’t going—how long she had, I thought I was ready. I mean, I was so goddamed doped up around those years that I just—I thought I had it under control. But when it came down to it, and I saw Jar—Jarbiss,” his name comes out with the familiar lips he used to have every time he got too upset. The one Howard and his bullies made sure to beat out of him, but the Jarvises always found so endearing. “I’d never seen Jarvis so upset, and something in me just _broke_. I—I don’t remember much of the few months after that,” he feels shame curl in his stomach and forces himself not to flinch in expectation of a blow.

“When my Ma died,” Steve says after a long pause and his voice sounds so raw. He clears his throat, and scooches closer to the mechanic. This time he doesn’t even pretend as though he’s not doing it. “I would go out later than usual and get into fights. I felt as though it was the only way I could feel something for a while there. Almost gave Buck a heart attack a week when I came back bloody,” Tony sees the way he cringes a little as the word leaves his lips and sighs. Steve is immediately backtracking. “I’m sorry, Tony, I just—“

“You can mention him, you know,” Tony says and he feels a flare of irritation in his chest. It feels as though as comfortable as he can get with Steve, the other man is always managing to pull that stability from him. the rational part of him feels that Steve is justified in how weary he is of bringing his friend up in conversation with Tony, but the emotional part that he will insist to his death he doesn’t possess, can’t get over the betrayal. Every time he hears the other man’s name all he can see is metal fingers wrapped around his Mama’s neck and the words _I’m sorry Tony… but he’s my friend. _“I know it technically wasn’t him who killed my mother, for fuck’s sake, I’ve had time to process the information. He wouldn’t be back if I didn’t know that!” Tony’s excess energy bursts out of him and he springs to his feet.

Steve is immediately clambering to his, his hands up in a pleading gesture, but Tony is done. The emotions of the previous talk with Clint, and his conversation with Steve now making him feel frayed at the edges. And now that the blond has mentioned him, he can’t get the image of his Mama’s last minutes out of his head or the sound of metal hitting metal or the whirring of repulsors and he can’t… he just can’t deal with that.

“Christ, Steve!” He says, and he wants to sound angry but he just mostly sound tired and desperate. “What’s it going to take, huh? I’ve bent myself over backwards trying to fucking _fix_ things. The Accords, the team, the press, the government… _myself_,” he husks out and his voice breaks. “What else can I do to make you _trust me?”_

_“I trust you!” _Steve snaps, and then he makes a mistake. And Tony will look back at this and realize this is the moment when they’d fucked up. One step forward, and about a million steps back. Steve snaps at him, and he’s got that determined look on his face that says he’s not backing out, and then he steps forward. And Tony? Tony’s in a disadvantaged position, and his fucking genius brain makes the leap in a fraction of a second. The conditioning kicks in, as his brain does the math and runs through its different scenarios, and comes to the quick conclusion that _he will not win this time_. Still, in a pantomime of their latest confrontation, Tony throws his hands up to cover his face and waits…

… and waits, and waits until the adrenaline begins to slow down and he dares to peek up over his eyes. Steve has staggered backwards, and there’s an absolutely devastated look on his face as he stares at Tony, his head shaking. Slowly, devastatingly and horrifically slowly, Tony’s brain makes the connection that this is different. That Steve will not hurt him; not after how much they’ve been trying for the last few days. “Steve—“he begins shakily, trying to step forward but his knees feel as though they’ll buckle if he moves.

Which is when things get a lot worse. “_Step the fuck away from him,”_ a voice thunders and Tony’s head snaps to the side and sees Rhodey making his way, shakily and with difficulty, towards them. And Tony is exhausted, so fucking done with how unbalanced he feels, so the step that was meant for Steve goes in Rhodey’s direction instead.

“Rhodes, it’s fine,” Tony says warily.

“Fine?” Rhodey growls, and tries to step towards Steve. His hands are balled into fists, and Tony recognizes that look. Lieutenant Colonel Rhodes is about to make an appearance, and the genius knows that he has to defuse this shit now before they blow it out bigger than it already has. Steve is already devastated, Tony knows, and despite the fact that he feels about to break he knows that he can’t allow Rhodey to hurt him further. Though he is infinitely grateful to have his brother’s support. “He was about to—“

“He wasn’t,” and it comes out a lot more bitingly than Tony intended.

“Look, Tony, I know how you feel about him, but that?” he points to the soldier, who’s just looking at the ground and shaking his head. “That looked an awful lot like—“he’s about to start shouting again and Tony wraps his hands around the colonel’s biceps.

“Like I jumped to conclusions,” Tony says and tries to make his voice sound even. The words taste as dusty and bitter as a lie on his tongue, but he desperately wills himself to believe them himself. “My head’s just in a bad place right now, is all. Okay? He wasn’t going to hurt me. Right, Captian?” Tony forces himself to meet the blond’s eyes.

“I would—“Tony sees something behind his eyes break, and then the younger man drops his gaze to the ground again. He shakes his head, and Tony doesn’t have to be a genius to know what he was going to say. _I would never_. But that’s just it, isn’t it? That would taste like a lie too. “I should go,” he finally says, just loud enough for them to hear.

“Steve, _no—“_

_“Yes_, you should,” Rhodey bites out. One of his hands grabs Tony’s him and pushes him behind him, a little roughly.

“That’s enough, Colonel,” Tony says sternly. His fingers are shaking now, the emotional rollercoaster he has been on all day finally taking a toll, and he shakes his head when Rhodey glares at him. “Please, wait for me in the car with Happy. I’m assuming he’s the one that brought you.”

“Tones—“

“Please,” Tony says and he must sound as pathetic as he thinks because Rhodey just sighs and nods. He tells him he’ll be nearby in case he’s needed, and then ruffles his hair. Tony bites out a soft _hey!_ But it’s enough to make him a little more centered. Rhodey is a god amongst men sometimes. Or all the time, if one were to ask Tony. “Steve, I’m sorry,” he finally says softly once his brother is gone. He still can’t force himself to meet the other man’s eyes.

“Tony,” Steve’s voice breaks. His name sounds more like a plea. “You’ve got _nothing_ to apologize for. I’m the one that hurt you. I’m the one that made you think that I could ever—I wouldn’t, Tony, I wouldn’t do that again. I was just—I know, okay, I _know_ I have no excuse but I swear to you—“

“Don’t,” Tony says raggedly. He feels a phantom pain in his chest, and he rubs at the annoyance. It’s been happening enough lately to bring him a twinge of concern, but he doesn’t have time at the moment. The fight for the Accords and the others and especially Barnes’s freedom is still not won. He doesn’t have the _time_.

“Tony, please—“

“I want to believe you,” he tells Steve and forces his eyes up to meet the other man’s. The blond is a little blurry, but he soldiers on. Heh, soldiers on. Looks like he’s finally what Steve wants, he thinks a bit hysterically. “So desperately, Steve, but—I don’t know if I can. I think we’re finally in a good place, and then it’s like the rug gets torn out from underneath my feet and I’m—I’m right back on the hellicarrier, or—or at Clint’s farm having you—or that bunker and I—all I can see when—when we go at it like that is you getting in my face and—and—the weight—I can feel the gauntlet on my hand, Steve, and I’m so scared. I’m always so scared that I’m going to—that I could—“

Suddenly there’s hands on his face, and for a wildly horrible second, he claws at them. He desperately tears at the hands holding him, and his gaze is a haze of bloody red and spots of black, before the sound of Steve’s gentle _shhh_ sounds grounds him again. When he can focus on the here and now, he can see the scratches and bloody trails on Steve’s pale arms and feels shame crawl up his throat. _I’m sorry,_ he chokes out again and again.

“Tony,” Steve says softly, and his eyes are big and bright and _blue_. “You would never hurt me. You would never raise any part of your armor to hurt us.”

“I already have,” the mechanic says wretchedly and the shame makes it harder for him to breathe.

“We pushed you,” Steve says after a moment. One of his hands has Tony’s fingers pressed against his chest, and he’s taking in lungfuls of air that the genius finds himself mimicking. Already, he can feel the panic subsiding. He just feels tired now. “I—Tony, I thought—In Leipzig, I thought you’d come for war,” he starts making shushing noises again when Tony breaks out on a litany of _no, no, I’m sorry, that’s not—_“I know,” the blond says fiercely and brings their foreheads closer together. “I _know_, Tony, and I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry that it took me seeing you… seeing you _buried_ under scraps of cars for me to fucking get it. the suit knows my moves better than I do, Tony, how many times have you told me that? I’ve seen you bring down tanks, and airfare carriers and _alien ships_ with your arsenal, Tones. I _know_ what the suit is capable, if you’d wanted us dead? Really, truly hurt? We never would have made it out of that bunker. We _walked _out of there, Tony, and we—_I left you to crawl_ out of there. I left you there, Tony. That was _me_. I understand,” he says softly and now he’s crying. Tony stares up at him in morbid fascination; he can’t tear his eyes away. “It destroys me inside to see you so—_Tony_,” his voice sounds broken. “You’re afraid of me. And it’s not just—you’re not afraid of Cap, you’re afraid of _me_. I will never be able to finish atoning for that,” he says vehemently.

“You don’t have to,” Tony says quietly. Because he knows. He knows what it’s like to have to ask forgiveness again and again for his past mistakes, his screw-ups. He knows what it’s like to be desperate for absolution and find condemnation instead. “We both—we hurt each other, so deeply. I—it’s taken me a long time to understand that. It’s taken me far too long and I hurt you, too, Steve. I—I don’t know how to—I don’t know how to forget. It won’t let me,” he says and wretchedly gestures at his head. Sometimes, he wishes he would have used Extremis when he came back from Siberia. When the alcohol and the BARF and his friends hadn’t been enough to drag him out of the hole he’d fallen into. Maybe then he and Steve would be okay.

“Could you—“Steve bites his lip and drops his fingers. Tony wants to call him back, please, but he keeps his mouth shut. “Could you see yourself… getting there? Someday?”

_Never, _the bitter angry part of Tony that sounds too much like Howard bites out. The other part, though, the part that is battered and hurt, says quietly that he’s already halfway there. Instead of voicing his conflict, Tony just nods. Steve’s eyes are still infinitely sad, but he nods back at the mechanic.

“Then all we can do is try. One day at the time; despite the blow outs and the fights… we can just try, can’t we?”

“Yeah, we can try,” Tony says softly. Steve gives him a small smile, tiny and broken and infinitely filled with pain, but an attempt nonetheless. “Now, could you—could you go tell Rhodes that I’ll be awhile? He can take you back to the compound.”

Tony is observing him, waiting to be told off for ordering Steve around or being ordered himself back home. It had happened before, on various occasions, when Steve thought he knew what was best for him better than Tony himself. And he sees it, in the way Steve’s jaw clenches and he has to look away and exhale sharply.

“I think you need to rest,” the blond says and Tony exhales. It feels too much like relief. The Captain’s tone isn’t its sharp bite, no command in it, but more like a suggestion. It’s nice, the mechanic thinks, because now he can hear the undercurrent of concern in his voice. “Plus, I don’t think Rhodes will be very amenable to me hitching a ride with him,” he gives Tony a wry smile.

Tony chuckles softly. “He’ll take you home. I can’t guarantee it’s going to be a pleasant ride, but… I just. I have one more stop here.” He gestures to the rest of the cemetery, and Steve just looks back at him. Giving him the chance to open up if he wants to. “I haven’t said hello to Jarvis in a while,” he suddenly feels boyish and he scrubs the toe of his shoe on the grass. As always, J makes him feel younger and safer than he actually is. The grief is slowly crawling back out, and he doesn’t feel ready to share it with Steve yet.

“Okay,” Steve says immediately. He gives Tony a small hesitant smile before taking a cautious step forward. “Tell him I said hello,” he whispers in Tony’s ear before planting a soft kiss on Tony’s cheek. The mechanic feels his skin heat up.

_He knows_, Tony thinks as he watches him walk away towards his brother. _Oh, he knows about it all. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ay, Steve, I still love you so much, you star spangled snake...


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Boy, you're gonna carry that weight.  
You're gonna carry that weight.  
A long time._  
Carry That Weight--The Beatles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey-o!  
A couple of announcements:  
I know it's been a while and I wanted to apologize for that. Things have been coming at me like crazy lately. It was barely the beginning of August and suddenly it was my birthday and now it's almost the end and whoa. Plus, work is still shitty as hell.  
Second, I'm starting uni on the 23rd (!!!!!!!!!!!!) so things are going to be hectic for the next couple of things while i get settled and stuffs so apologies in advance.  
Lastly, for all of you who have *politely* and without pressuring have asked me about the Clint chapter, it's been very hard to write because a huge chunk of me wants to make him a total nonredeemable character, but... guys, it's Hawkass. I can't. I have to make him better than this. So all i can promise you at the moment is to try to work on it before i start school. Also, i might rearrange some chapters if need be so please bear with me.
> 
> also, this got really dark for a second so read the warnings. 
> 
> WARNING!!!! MENTIONS OF A MINOR'S ALCOHOL ABUSE. MENTIONS OF A MINOR'S USE OF DRUGS. MENTIONS OF NON CONSENSUAL TOUCHING BETWEEN AN INTOXICATED MINOR AND A YOUNG MAN 18+. BRIEF MENTION OF WHAT COULD BE CONSIDERED CHILD ABUSE.   
IF ANY OF THESE TRIGGER YOU PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE DO NOT READ.

Steve walks towards Rhodes and Hogan with heavy steps. He doesn’t feel right, leaving Tony behind, but he also knows a dismissal when he hears one. Tony might have been ready to share stories about Howard and Peggy, since Steve had known and cared for both, and give a glimpse about his mother. Though the soldier doesn’t know _why _he was made privy to them; he wants to think it’s because Tony trusts him now at least that much, but a part of him thinks it’s got nothing to do with trust. Maybe it’s because the mechanic thinks he should know a bit about the remarkable woman who was taken away from him by Steve’s best friend. The thought hurts because the blond doesn’t need Tony to do that. He doesn’t need Tony to tell him who Maria was for him to feel like utter shit about what he’s done, and especially when it obviously hurts the mechanic the way it does. Steve has never really seen cry before; even in Siberia he’d kept a tight lid on his emotions. Had refused to let Steve and Bucky see the pain the surveillance video caused him.

Now is different, though, and Steve feels a pang of guilt at that. There are times when Tony just _can’t_ not cry. And most of those times happen when he’s talking _to _Steve about all the people he’s lost. The blond knows that nobody on the team has really thought about it, how isolated Tony has really been his whole life or the fact that he lost so much in such a short amount of time. Sometimes Steve thinks that the reason Tony is expressing himself so much lately is because it’s finally catching up to him; it’s as though he’s reached a threshold where he _can’t_ hold anymore, and so it comes pouring out. The soldier knows Tony _hates_ that it happens, hates that he’s that vulnerable in front of some of them, and he can’t really blame him. Not when he’s the one that put him in that situation in the first place.

He knows about Edwin, too. He knows how much he means to the mechanic. Not because he’d told him about him, but because he’d given enough clues for anyone who had been paying attention to know. Steve feels a curl of intense self-loathing when he thinks about the fact that AI JARVIS had been created as a… not a replacement, but as a way to fill in a void that someone important had left behind. He feels shame at the thought that every one of them had brushed JARVIS’s passing when the whole Ultron debacle happened, and had never even thought to ask Tony if he was all right. In hindsight, he can remember with painful clarity the mechanic’s face when he’d shown the AI’s shattered matrix; the subtle trembling in his voice when he’d said “_JARVIS, answer me buddy…_”

So it’s no surprise that he’s been sent away while Tony visits with him, but it still hurts. Irrationally, he knows. He has no claim to anything of Tony’s, has no right to be told what is going on in the other man’s head, no matter how much he might want to know. The least he can do right now is respect Tony’s choice. He’s done a shit job of that before, after all.

Rhodes is standing at parade rest in front of the Bentley when Steve gets to the main road. Hogan is standing next to him, and he appears to be having a heated discussion with the Colonel. Rhodes is nodding, his eyes hidden behind a pair of aviators, and his expression grim. Hogan is the first who spots him, and even though he’s wearing sunglasses as well, Steve can tell he’s scanning the area for his boss. His mouth tightens and he takes a step in the blond’s direction, but Rhodes stops him though he doesn’t take his eyes off Steve. He swallows the flash of irritation at their reactions, God, it’s not like he’d hurt Tony. Especially in a place that feels so sacred.

_But you already have, haven’t you? You’ve already destroyed him in all the ways that matter. You’re damned lucky he didn’t need the reactor when you did it… but you wouldn’t have stopped, huh? You had to be right so much you wouldn’t have stopped,_ a vicious voice snarls in his head. Steve feels his legs stumble when the self-recrimination hits him. He shakes his head hard to dispel the thought, but the guilt has already settled. He doesn’t know what it says about him that _now_ the immediate answer is no, but he’s not sure about back then.

“Where’s my brother?” James says as soon as Steve is in hearing range. Well, regular human’s hearing range. The man sounds stern, but there is concern hidden in there. Steve bites his cheek bloody with the need to defend himself.

“He says we should head back,” he begins calmly.

“Like hell,” Hogan all but snarls and makes to take a step towards Steve. Rhodes holds fast, his eyes never dropping from Steve, and murmurs for the driver to stay.

“Why,” it’s not even a question. It’s more of a command. Military discipline is well engrained in Steve, and he snaps at attention at a commanding officer. Rhodes looks pleased.

“He was going to visit with Jarvis,” understanding flickers in the other men’s expression. “Said he’d be a while and that we should head back. He, uh,” he rubs the back of his neck and feels heat crawl up to his ears. Shit, how is he supposed to even ask for this? The least they are entitled to do is let him walk his ass back to the compound. “He said you might be able to give me a ride home?” it ends up coming out more like a question.

“Sure,” Rhodes says just as Hogan opens his mouth. Happy gives the colonel a sharp glare but Rhodes keeps his eyes on Steve. The blond can’t miss the sharp grin on his face and he swallows. Well, then. He figures he’s long overdue on this chat, anyway.

Hogan opens the door for Rhodes and moves to the driver’s seat, leaving Steve to fend for himself. He’s not completely strapped in before Happy lurches the car forward and the blond nearly brains himself falling forward.

“Hap,” Rhodes says sternly though he doesn’t sound too upset. Hogan merely looks in the rearview mirror toward Steve, raising an eyebrow, daring him to say something, but the blond soldier merely grits his teeth. Fine. Fine, it’s all right. They’re protective of their friend, and really, it’s not like he hasn’t earned it. It’s not as if he’s earned worse. “Tony wouldn’t want you doing this shit, man.” Happy glares at Steve one last time, and then looks away, chastised. It’s clear by the tense silence in the car that neither man agree with their friend’s choice.

The rest of the ride back to the facility is marred with tense silence. The tension so thick it could be cut with a knife, and Steve racks his brain for something to say. Anything that doesn’t make him sound too stupid, but that brings the tension a bit lower. Most of his questions have to do with the time he’s missed states’ side, though, or about Tony and he’s not thoughtless enough to think the men in the car will be too forthcoming with that. Tony might not have said it explicitly, but he knows Rhodes and Hogan won’t hesitate to tell him where he can shove his concern. So they sit in silence, Happy’s eyes trained on the road ahead, and Rhodes looking out the window. Steve notices that one hand keeps fisting on the colonel’s leg, but doesn’t say anything. That is another thing that is not his place to mention, and he knows it, but goddamn it, he cares for Rhodes. He’d been part of his team for long enough to form a kinship.

When they reach the compound, Happy parks the car in the main garage and gets out. Before Steve can get out, the locks click shut and the driver slams his door shut. It isn’t until then that he notices Rhodes hadn’t made a move to get out of his seat, or even unclick his seatbelt. So the blond leans back in his seat with dread settling low on his belly. He should have known that things wouldn’t go that easy. Rhodes has a protective instinct stretching a mile wide, and though he hadn’t been outright hostile with any of them, everyone knew he didn’t trust them as far as he could throw them. Which, with the armor, is probably pretty damn far.

“Rogers,” the man starts and he’s still not looking at Steve. The blond doesn’t know why, but he keeps quiet. There’s a look of introspection on the other man’s face that advices the soldier that he best keep his mouth shut. “I would threaten you, but that’s not quite effective for us. Anything I might want to do to you, Tony can do a thousand times over even if he never would. No matter how much you deserve it. So, that’s not what I want to talk about. Though I hope it goes without saying,” and the Colonel turns to look at him and Steve is man enough to admit that he feels fear crawl down his spine. This isn’t Rhodes, Tony’s platypus or honey-bear or whatever other affectionate name he wants to call him, the man in front of Steve now is Lieutenant Colonel James Rupert Rhodes, War Machine. This is the man who’s fought in the Air Force longer than Steve has even been awake, this is the man who has piloted a suit of armor, fought robot armies, taken care of Tony Stark for years. “That if I ever catch wind of you doing this sort of shit again, I will take whatever piece my brother leaves of you and obliterate it. You got that?” At Steve’s shaky nod, he looks away. “Now, I’m going to tell you something. Something that Tony might hate me for sharing, but I’m going to do it anyway. Because I see it, you know,” there is pure anger swimming in Rhodes’s eyes. “I see the way you still look at him like _he_ is the one that betrayed you in that bunker.”

Steve opens his mouth to deny it, but the words get stuck in his throat. He’s lied enough for a life time, and he’s vowed to himself not to do it again if he can help it. He never would have known it would be this hard. Because he might mean them now, the same way he would have meant them before until he found himself straddling the man he’d come to think of as more than just a friend, and had crushed the symbol of his power. Because he knows, oh does he _know_, what the arc reactor has meant for Tony since its conception even if he doesn’t need it anymore. It took a while, but he knows. So he nods, and lets the shame crawl over him.

“I met Tony when I was in my third year at MIT. He was placed as my roommate, and at the beginning I hated the idea of it. Of having a freshman in my dorm room and having to listen to his hormonal ass bemoan everything about university. Seeing him made everything so much worse,” Rhodes gives a fond chuckle and shakes his head. Steve is riveted because for all that Tony loves talking he never really says much in the way of insight into his own life. “I was trying to get through university as fast as I could, and then suddenly there was this thirteen year old kid in my dorm room telling me he was my roommate. And as the first semester progressed, I can’t say that I was very fond of him. He _was_ hormonal, he was messy, he was loud, he partied a lot—I thought it was unfair, you know? This rich white kid can fuck around all he wants and he’d still pass his fucking classes and I thought it would be because of his money, you know? I’d find his papers and his tests strewn around and they were all perfect scores. I thought he was paying the professors or something, we all knew who Howard Stark was of course we did, and so I _hated_ his guts. And then,” Rhodes has a pinched look on his face. “And then I went to this party, right, it was right after midterms and I decided I deserved to have some fun. And I find him—he was just a kid, you know? He was _thirteen_, and he was sitting on a couch this asshole _Tiberius” _Rhodes spits the name, “ with his arm wrapped around his shoulders and he had—he had this wad of cash on one hand and fucking cup of _something_ in the other and—he was _gone_, you know?”

Steve _doesn’t _know. Even when he was younger, he didn’t make it a point to hang around with drunks much. Sure, Bucky and he went out from time to time. Dancing or the movies with a dame Bucky had gotten for him, but he’d never been around people like that. He had never seen how truly gone someone could be. He’s seen enough pop culture now, though, to have an idea of what might happen at a college campus. But thinking about this—thinking about a _thirteen year old Tony_, all floppy hair and big eyes, and—it turns his stomach.

“His eyes were all glassy and he was—Tony has always rambled, _always_, but this was different. I could tell. This was a _kid_, and this asshole had an arm wrapped around his shoulder and a hand on his fucking knee, and I _know_, I know for a fucking fact that if I hadn’t gotten there and I hadn’t pulled him out that hand would have—that wasn’t the last party Tony went to, of course not, but I made it a point to watch him after that. I tried to—I don’t know, the idea of being his babysitter at first annoyed the hell out of me, but after that party I just felt like I _had_ to. Because it wasn’t fair that he was being treated like that, it wasn’t fair that he was buying shit for people who would—would get him drunk or _do_ something to him like that. And he started getting better, you know? He was still a mess, especially after every holiday when he had to go back home,” _back to Howard_, Rhodes doesn’t say. The implication isn’t lost on either one of them, regardless. “But he started cutting back, he started taking his classes seriously, and… well, _I _got to know _Tony_. Not Tony Stark, but just Tony, and he was brilliant. Holy hell, he was _light-years_ away from the rest of us. He was brilliant, and when he let all his stupid defenses down, he was—he was actually _sweet_,” Rhodes says with a chuckle, and Steve can see it. Doesn’t even have trouble imagining it. “That’s when I got to see the pattern, you know? I had been an asshole to him before, but once I started giving him attention? He just—exploded. Anything I mentioned I wanted, it would miraculously find itself into our dorm room. If I asked him out to get pizza with me, he’d pay for the whole thing and leave a ridiculous tip. If I wanted to get to a party, he’d blow a hell of a lot of money on alcohol so I could take it with me. If I needed help with my homework, he’d offer to do it for me. It was—it was _disturbing_, how much he wanted to just—hand me everything ‘cause he thought it’d keep me around. When we came back from Christmas break for our second semester, he was right back where we started. Partying, and blowing off his classes, but by then we had one class together. And I got to _see_ it, you know, the way these assholes were using him. The way they’d give him a little bit of attention, and there was this kid tripping over himself to make them happy. So I tried to be better, you know, for him. A better friend. It was so fucking hard to get him to believe that I _wanted_ to be his friend just because and then one day he shows up in the middle of the fucking night soaking wet with a busted up face and shivering like crazy. And the only thing he could tell me was _Ty_, over and over again, and I wanted to _murder_ this asshole, because—how do you fucking beat up a kid, you know?”

Steve clenches his fists on the seat, and hears the upholstery tear at the force of it. He closes his eyes and focuses on his breathing. Reminds himself to keep in the here and now. Reminds himself that there is nothing he can do to go back in time and beat the people who hurt his friend to a pulp. He doesn’t know why Rhodes is telling him this, but he’s glad nonetheless. It explains so much of how Tony reacted to the team, how weary of them he was at the beginning, and his chest hurts with the realization that he’d been taught to be weary of people from such an early age. And this isn’t even counting everything that Howard may have done, which has been heavily implied by Rhodes and Tony and sometimes even Natasha.

“And it seemed like that might have been the final straw, you know? Sure he went to the occasional party, but once I asked it was like—he had this idea in his head that he had a reputation to maintain, you know? It seemed crazy to me, but one day—there was this stupid gossip rag in the trash bin, and there he was. This grainy picture of him at a party, and something about how he was _following in his father’s footsteps_, and it was just one more thing for him. One more stupid thing he had to do, or something, to be like his old man. So whenever he felt like he hadn’t been out for a while, he’d find a party, and we’d go. I refused to leave him alone by that point, and he was—he was getting better. We got through MIT together, and I went to the force and he went to his dad to work in R&D, though it was more like he was getting groomed to be the next Howard Stark. Every time we talked he sounded—well, chocked is the best word for it. And I knew it was hurting him, you know, but—he didn’t really have a choice. And then—God,” Rhodes thuds his head against the seat and Steve closes his eyes. He knows what’s coming. Knows it with a visceral feeling of pain and guilt.

“Then I get this call, I was on leave at the time, thank _God,_ and he—he sounded just like before as he told me his parents were dead. He sounded just like the kid who’d told me Ty had hit him and he didn’t know _why_. Suddenly I was back in that goddamn dorm room, patching him up, while he tried his best not to cry because _Stark men are made of iron._ It scared the fuck out of me, you know, how—he sounded _broken_, and I’d never heard him like that before. He’d been hurt whenever he came back to school, but never like that. So I told my Mama that I needed to get to New York, she knew all about Tony, and she all but pushed me out the door, you know? So I get to the mansion, and Edwin almost jerks the door right off its hinges and says _Oh thank God_. And then he tells about getting the call, and telling Tony, and how he just—he lost it, you know? His Mama was gone, and that just—it shattered him. So I borrowed a car from Jarvis and I went looking for him, and there was—there was left over police tape and debris and—and _blood_ on the ground. It should have been weird, I should have fucking known, because the blood was—anyway, he was right in the middle of it. Curled up into this little ball and he just—I’ve heard people cry, before and after, but hearing him—like that, it was—I’ve never been able to forget it.”

Steve wants to curl himself up, and disappear into the seat. He forgets, sometimes, how young Tony had been. He forgets the weight of everything that felt on his fragile shoulders when he lost his parents. He forgets that Tony knows his same kind of grief.

“Everything came spiraling down after that,” Rhodes sighs. His face is stoic, but his hand keeps clenching at his jeans. “If I had thought he was bad in college, it was nothing compared to what happened afterwards. He had no time to recover, you know, no time to really mourn them. We stayed like that for hours, and I think that’s about the only time he was allowed. Obie was breathing down his neck from the get-go about the company and his responsibilities and the goddamn press. He couldn’t go outside without a microphone shoved down his throat or a flash in his face. I should have fucking known Obie was dirty, you know, because the fucker made Tony _throw a party_ for fucking Christmas. Some bullshit about appeasing the public, but it was—it was bad. I wasn’t there, my leave was over, but I was checking the news obsessively. And he—every goddamn picture, he has the same glassy look and lose grin from that party. Every article is about how he’s getting sloshed, or high as a fucking kite, or _doing the walk of shame_ out of some rando’s house,” Rhodes shakes his head. “Everyone had an opinion, you know, about why he was doing that shit. They made him out to be—dear God, the crap they’d publish about him. how he was just waiting, how he was probably _glad_ his parents were gone, how he’d probably planned the hit himself to be able to do the shit he was doing. Nobody, _nobody_, had a good thing to say about him and yet… every other week, I’d get a call. And it was him, you know, in the middle of the fucking night in New York and he was sat at that same spot, curled up in himself, coming up with theory after theory about what had happened. Every other week, for a whole year, he was back in the same spot.”

“Rhodes,” Steve chokes out. The guilt and the grief for a young boy he never met threatens to tear him in two. The reality of what keeping that secret from Tony hits him full force. He wants to defend himself, tell Rhodes that he hadnt know _any of that_, how he’d never thought his parents had meant so much to the genius, but he can’t. He _can’t_ because if he thinks long enough about what he did. If he puts himself in Tony’s position, if he starts thinking about what _he_, Steve Rogers, would have done if he’d thought for over _half his life_ that his mother had died in an accident only to be told that she’d been murdered. And if he’d found out that _Bucky_ had known and _hadn’t told him—_he doesn’t—he can’t even begin to imagine what he would have done.

“He blamed Howard, you know,” Rhodes says after a while. “He must have been drunk, he was probably yelling at mom, he was distracted, he was going too fast—he had all these theories of what could have been. When he wasn’t blaming some random unknown driver, he blamed his dad. Can you imagine what that must have been like? For him to think that his own father had taken _the person he loved the most_ from him, just like that?” Steve’s breath shutters into a sob, and he shakes his head. “So the next time you start telling yourself that he overreacted, that he—I don’t know, had to snap to the rational conclusion that Barnes was brainwashed when he _had to see him choke the life out of his mother_, I want you to remember that. I want you to remember how much he loved his mother, the next time you or anyone on your _team_,” he says sarcastically, “tells him he _doesn’t care about anyone but himself_, I want you to remember that the people he’s loved most are either dead or have stabbed him in the back. He’s getting better, now. With the kids, and with us, and we would all be damned if we let you lot drag him down again. Am I understood?”

Steve’s ability to form words had left him sometime around the mention of thirteen year old Tony. He can’t talk through the lump in his throat, so he merely nods. There’s a measure look in Rhodes’s eyes as he stares back, and then nods. He opens the door and gets out without another word. Steve can’t do anything but stare straight ahead and try not to break.

He sits there for a long, long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you... every single one of you, for the continued support and love. Thank you for loving Tony as much as I do. And i'll see y'all in, hopefully, a short while :D  
Also, please suspend disbelief for those of you who know how university housing works. Cause i sure as fuck don't lmao. I'm living at home in the meantime so... ya know, LOL
> 
> [Also, I got was thinking about December 16 when i found this little gem so thanks for the push](http://fangirlingmanaged.tumblr.com/post/164345342969/the-calvaree-thealextheshipper)


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _So be strong tonight - remember who you are_  
Yeah you're a soldier now - fighting in a battle  
To be free once more - yeah, that's worth fighting for
> 
> _Sound the Bugle_-Bryan Adams
> 
> The long awaited talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Shows up 3 days late with Starbucks* 'Sup?
> 
> I have agonized over this goddamn chapter for so long, y'all. It's a bit different from like everything else, but it seemed right. I feel like both of us healed a little bit by the end so... hopefully you will like it as well :) Things are looking up now, everyone.

Clint Barton is not usually the worrying type. Mostly because, before this whole Avengers’ mess, what he had to worry about were pretty mundane things. Like what time he was supposed to be back from a mission, how long Laura had gone without sleep because one or all of the kids were up, what time the smallest of their children had had their latest feeding… stuff like that. For the most part, he could count on both his hands the number of people whom he needed to watch out for. For the most part, he could see those people on a very regular basis.

This was different.

All of his alarms had been ringing since the Captain had all but ran out of the kitchen in search of a wayward genius. He had started the worried fussing about twenty five minutes after the kids had stormed out of the kitchen. Parker and the Harley boy to the lab for some “recon” as they called it, and his own oldest child had slammed his bowl on the sink and stormed away. Nate was already fussy before Steve even less, missing his uncle like crazy, and had become all but inconsolable from the moment Steve stepped away.

By the time hour two had hit, Clint had hit the pacing portion of his worrying. He justified it to himself by saying he was doing it in the hopes to calm his son. Nate had never been able to calm down by moving him, however, and usually just cried until he was content. Whatever goddamn baby whispering Stark had managed to find, Clint sure as hell didn’t have it. Not to mention the fact that he couldn’t speak Italian for shit.

So that’s how his wife found him, two hours and thirty seven minutes later; making loops through the halls that overlooked the woods. Baby Nate was resting his head on his father’s shoulder, making utterly pitiful whimpers and snuffling, mumbling to himself. Clint himself had run through his entire nursery rhyme repertoire, which usually worked at home, and most of his child friendly stories. He was all out begging his son to please calm down when Laura came striding down the hall, her arms extended to take the baby.

“You know, people say that doing the same thing expecting different results is the definition of insanity,” Laura says as Nate rubs his little face on her shoulder.

“Yeah, well, I’ve tried everything,” Clint says as he leans against the glass. He hadn’t noticed until the weight was gone, but his arm had gone numb at some point. He rotated his shoulder to try to get the feeling back into it. “He’s been like this for hours.”

“I heard,” Laura says sympathetically. She has a sad smile on her face as he looks over at him, and Clint’s heart squeezes. Dear God, how he loves her. “You just miss your uncle, don’t you, baby bird?” At Clint’s raised eyebrow, she chuckles and bounces the baby on her hip. “Peter’s nickname; it kind of just stuck after the first few times. Have you tried taking him to the others?” Clint knows she means the other children.

“Lila and Cassie are out with Sam and Wanda,” he says as way of explanation. He doesn’t need to expand for her to understand what he means. That two of the boys are too much Stark’s to be very friendly to him at the moment, and that his own son is too hurt to listen to him at the moment. Clint didn’t want to dump baby Nate on his oldest, and maybe it was childish of him, but he wanted to show his son that he was able to fix his messes, still. He sighs and thunks his head back on the glass.

“I just don’t know what to do, Laura,” he admits, and he closes his eyes tightly to stave the moisture gathering in the corners of his eyes. “Every damn day I feel like I’m losing him.” he hears his wife sigh and then there’s a pressure on his side. When he opens his eyes, she’s leaning against the glass at his side; his arm comes around her automatically and she leans into him further. Nate is still making displeased noises, but he’s a bit more settled. Clint’s fingers comb through his thin hair, and they shake. God, to think he could have lost all of this.

“You haven’t lost any of us,” she says after a pause. Clever, as always, she knows exactly what he means without saying the words. She’s not looking at him, but he doesn’t feel as far away from her as he usually does these days. The moments when they have been this close, this intimate, are few and far between. He’s been stowing in so much anger, bristly and defensive at every turn, and her… well, she’s got a protective instinct a mile wide and an inability to let him get away with his shit. “He’s not mad at you, you know. He’s just hurt.”

“I know,” he says wretchedly. Because he _does_ know, if it hadn’t been for the tiny step his son had taken that first day in his direction before he’d back tracked, he knows because of Stark. Because of their conversation before the other man had locked himself away. He closes his eyes and tries to keep his breathing even as he remembers.

***

He’d been so ready for a fight. Had talked himself up thinking that he needed to get everything he had off his chest and that he had to be ready to fight Stark if need be. He had expected the other man to give as good as he got; to yell insults and accusations and well-placed jabs that hit just a little bit too close to home. It was, what he thought, what was to be expected from Tony Stark. It’s what usually happened when the genius and the captain went after each other.

What he was met with was silence.

After Clint had been done with telling him how he didn’t like him, most days couldn’t even stand him, but that they needed to get over their shit for the sake of his kids. When he was done telling Tony how he knew that he didn’t care about anyone but himself, but that Clint wasn’t going to let his kids be around an environment where everyone was fighting all the time. When Clint was done telling him that he needed to stop pretending, for a second, that the Accords business had been about protecting the team. When Clint was done telling him about how he needed to get over his issues because they were a team still, and that even though everyone didn’t like his arrogance and his holier-than-thou attitude, they were still around so the genius had to shut the fuck up and man up. How he needed to stop pretending like he was so much better than Wanda.

After all of that, Stark had just stood there with an inscrutable expression on his face, his arms crossed across his chest, and standing at parade rest. Similarly to how Rhodes stood these days around him; that defensive curve to his shoulders. The tinted glasses covering his eyes. Tony had just looked at him until Clint was uncomfortable enough to snap with, “What? You’re not gonna say anything now? You had plenty to say before!”

“When?” Stark’s voice had been deadly quiet. He’d tilted his head to the side. “When did I have time to explain anything? When you came and bombed my home and attacked my friend?” Clint had been about to argue that explanation, but Stark had held a hand out to stop him. “When you were fighting me and mine for no reason, shut the fuck up now, Barton,” he’d snapped when the archer had opened his mouth again to argue. “It’s my turn, you will goddamn well respect it. You were _retired_, Clint, what did you think? That Nat and I didn’t think to call you? We, _both of us,_ agreed against it. Because you said you were done, because you had a _family_, because Laura and your children were depending on _you_… We didn’t want to drag you into another war. You did that, all on your own, so don’t you fucking blame me for ending up behind bars because of your shitty choices. OR maybe you meant I had had my turn to explain my side in the Raft? When you and Sam and even some asshole _I’d never even seen before in my life_, thought it was a good idea to… what? Lump me in with my father? The man that beat me and abused me when he paid attention to me, or ignored me like I was scum on his shoe when he didn’t? Is that when I had a choice to say anything? Or maybe it was in that bunker? When I had the living hell beat out of me? OR what about when you all came back? When the first thing you did when we saw each other was punch me in face? Tell me when, Barton!”

Clint begins the see the cracks then. The way one of Stark’s hands comes to rub at his chest. The way the other man’s sternum heaves like every breath is a struggle. The unhappy twist to his mouth. His eyes, what he’s famed for up and down SHIELD’s corridors, catch in the lines on the other man’s face and the deep circles under his eyes. He looks tired, so done with everything around him, and for a brief second Clint sees the years on Tony Stark’s face like never before.

But he’s angry and bitter, and he’s never been the best at keeping his mouth shut.

“Oh, give me a break, rich boy,” Clint snorted derisively. His own hands are crossed over his chest, and he stands on a near mirror image of the other man. “I came out of retirement because of you! Don’t talk to me about shitty choices when we’re still trying to fix _yours! _Things don’t go your way once, and you think that’s a good enough reason to put all of us behind bars. You put a kid behind bars because you couldn’t stand that someone else was more powerful than you! Wanda is half your age and has gone through much more than you can imagine, and you can’t _stand_ the thought that we all took to her the way we did! What, you think we betrayed you? That we all took her side instead of yours? Well, newsflash, asshole, that’s what happens when you’re not a piece of shit!”

“Christ, you are delusional,” Stark chuckles, an incredulous expression on his face. “Is that what you think this was? Me throwing a hissy fit over some enhanced with unpredictable powers? What I did, I did for her and everyone else like her. What I did was to protect her, despite the fact that she fucked me over so bad I still wake up in a panic almost every night _because she fucked with my head. _God, excuse the fuck out of me, Agent Barton,” the title suddenly and irrationally feels like a slap to the archer. “For thinking that the only member of my team who had gone through something similar might understand what I went through.”

Clint feels the phantom icy feeling of tendrils grabbing onto his mind. Sees the memory of the blue-fire tinge everything had taken when Loki had taken control of him. Fears the anger and the impotence of seeing his friends hurt, and being unable to do anything. Feels the guilt that came afterwards. The nightmares that woke him and his family constantly on his first few months back. Feels the worthless feeling of thinking that you could have done more but hadn’t.

Even so, he glares at his former teammate and refuses to budge. “That was different. It’s like she told Vision. She can’t control your fear, Stark, only her own.”

“Maybe that’s true, but she damn well can trigger someone’s anxiety, Clint! She sure as fuck can make a person have an episode because of what she did! And _yes, Clint_,” he snaps when the archer snorts derisively, “_yes I have anxiety. _Yes, Tony Stark is fucking human and he can be angry, and hurt and goddamn terrified! Christ, Clint, I am not a fucking robot. She got into my head and she _triggered_ my worst fear, Barton. Has she told you what she showed me?” Clint was shaking his head before his brain had really connected. Stark was… manic, is the only way the archer could describe him, now. He ran a shaking hand through his head and took a step away from Clint. “You were all dead, Barton. Every single one of you. Even Thor and the Hulk, who I—it’s unthinkable, for me, imagining _the fucking Hulk_ speared into the ground, dying. Thor’s armor was crushed, in my vision.” Tony, fucking Christ this wasn’t the Stark persona Clint kept thinking about, blinked up at the fading sky and the corners of his mouth trembled. “And up there was a hole like New York and an enemy that we couldn’t beat. And I get it, okay, I get that you all rally behind Cap’s noble _we live or die together_, but goddamn it, Clint. Do you have any idea what it feels like to see your entire team dead or dying and for them to tell you it was your fault?” _Because that’s what she showed me_, is what he doesn’t say. Stark isn’t looking at him, he’s still riveted looking up at the sky with a heaving chest, but Clint has his eyes locked on him regardless. “So, yes, I was terrified. I was terrified and in denial and I made Ultron because despite the fact that _I’m not recommended_,” he said with a sardonic smile, “I’m still the dumbass that would rather set himself on fire than watch you all die.”

They lapsed into a tense silence as Stark stared at him and Clint stared back, trying to unjumble his thoughts. He kept circling back to what the other man had said, about his memories and his triggers. About the description, _you bombed my home_, and the thought of how Vision had ended up. He kept circling back to how Wanda had looked with that collar on her neck, and the guilt and anger warred in his chest.

“You put her in a collar, Stark,” he says at last. “No matter what she did, she’s just a kid, she didn’t deserve that.”

“I didn’t deserve what she did, either,” Stark said, quietly. Clint would have argued, but the fact that Tony didn’t say it to be contradictory stopped him. The other man sounded like he _knew_ Clint wouldn’t listen or wouldn’t care. That, more than anything, made the guilt triple. “Cap, Thor, Tasha didn’t deserve to be tortured the way they were. Bruce,” Stark’s voice broke with grief and Clint had to look away. “Didn’t deserve to be triggered the way he was. He’d been doing so much better, Clint. You saw him, you were there every step of the way; he was trying so hard, and she destroyed everything. He went god knows where because of what she did to him!” Stark shouts, and Clint jumps. “You and Cap might keep thinking she’s just a kid, but she’s not. Hell, _Peter_ knows better and she’s older than him, Barton. Just because you see her as a child doesn’t mean everyone else is going to treat her as one.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Clint asks in a low voice. The anger makes a short return in his chest.

Stark merely shakes his head; Clint can tell he’s already tired of the conversation. The sun has fully set by now, and all around them the compound’s and the green house’s lights are burning bright. Stark looks towards where the others are gathered. “I’m done talking about her, Clint. I can’t—I will never see her the way you do, just as I doubt you’d ever get over what Loki did to you,” the comparison grates on the archer’s nerves, but he doesn’t say anything. “And as for Wanda, I’d suggest you talk to Natasha about that. She was a lot more hands on with the Accords and the press than I was. My job was to try to convince Cap to listen. They thought he would listen to me; co-leader and all that bullshit,” he laughs bitterly. “But that’s not what we should be talking about here, Clint. This isn’t about just you and me; hell, it’s not even about the bullshit that we call a team. This is about Cooper,” Stark takes off his sunglasses and looks directly at the archer. Clint can’t remember ever seeing him this serious. “That boy in there loves you, Barton. He’s kind and loving, and fucking brilliant. You and Laura have raised a damned good kid, and you have no right making him feel the way you have. No, shut up,” Stark makes a motion with his hand to cut it out. Clint snaps his mouth so hard his jaw aches. “That boy loves you, and he fucking needs you, Clint. They all do, but they need _all _of you. You owe it to them to not half-ass your time with them.”

“So you think you’re a family counselor now? You think you’re a genius parent or something? Is that why you brought a kid into a fight?” Clint snaps defensively. He knows, but won’t admit, that Tony has a point. That his own son thinks his father can replace him, drop retirement and go at the first call of someone he hasn’t even met. But damn if he’s going to let _Stark_ of all people lecture him after all the times the so-called genius has fucked up.

Stark merely looks at him for a long beat before he sighs in defeat and puts his glasses back on his face. He shoves his hands in his pockets and just looks at the archer as he says, slowly and clearly, “I am the last person to try to give you advice. But as someone who’s lost almost every person who’s been dear to me, I’m trying to help you. That boy loves you, but you _will_ lose him if you keep being a stubborn ass. He and Lila and Nate are just kids, Clint, they deserve better than a father who has more important priorities than his own children. Take it from a guy whose father cared more about a soldier that went missing in 1945 than he ever cared about his own kid.”

Stark had walked away from him after that, leaving him looking after him with guilt and anger and a surprising feeling of empathy in his chest. Clint had stood there until Natasha had all but stormed out of the green house, murder in her eyes when she saw the archer standing alone, and had barked at him asking him where Stark was. It wasn’t until then, until his _partner_ had thought he would hurt Tony, that his actions began to catch up with him. _You bombed my home_, Tony had said, and though it hadnt been only him who put a grenade on their team, he still had enough responsibility to feel as though he needed to fix what they’d broken.

Tony had been doing it alone for the past few months, after all. It was about time one of them began to repay in kind.

So after talking Natasha into dropping the metaphorical gun, he’d very quietly and seriously said, “Tasha, what was the plan if Stark didn’t manage to convince Cap?”

Tasha gave him a long, inscrutable look before saying “follow me,” and led the way into the compound.

***

“You can start by talking to your own son, if you can’t talk to your teammates,” Laura’s voice snaps him out of the reverie. “You—don’t take this the wrong way, but you moved all the way to New York when she needed help but you won’t cross the compound to speak to your own son. He’s as observant as you are, Clint, and he’s noticed.”

Before he can respond, Stark ambles from the entryway down into the hallway. He’s rubbing one of his eyes while he looks down at his phone, and the closer he gets the more noticeable it is. He’s been crying, and Clint’s chest grows tight. In the last two weeks he’s seen more of Stark than ever before, and he’s begun to notice a pattern. Even when they had been a so called team, none of them had ever interacted with the mechanic much, and sure he had a tendency to go on long inventing benders often, but—well, the archer can’t deny that while they had all been having dinners and movie marathons and the like nobody had ever really tried to bring the mechanic in. they had made an effort with everyone else, but not with him. Other than Cap’s fumbling and half-assed attempts, that is.

“Hey,” he hears Laura say quietly next to him. He knows she’s not talking to him, and for the first time since he’s come back, he smiles at the mechanic. “Look who’s home.”

He knows the exact moment his son sees his favorite person in the world. Instead of the jealousy and anger of the past, he feels his grin growing when Stark’s eyes snap up and a smile completely overtakes his face. Whatever he’d been worrying about before dissipating in the wake of the baby’s loud and frantic “Unc’a ‘Onny! _Unc’a ‘Onny_!”

The other man speeds up to meet Laura halfway, but before taking the baby, his eyes lock on Clint’s and he stops dead on his feet. The archer sees the dread in the other man’s eyes as he takes a step back, and then the distress when Nate gets even more upset. The archer hates himself a little, for hurting his son and putting that look on Stark’s face. _I will fix this_, he vows to himself. He has done far too much breaking, and though he’s shit at fixing this, he doesn’t have a choice but to try about this.

He clears his throat and levels what he hopes is a friendly smile at the other man. “Go on,” he tells him and watches the surprise on _Tony’s_ face. “He’s been asking for you for a few days.”

The mechanic doesn’t have to be told twice. He all but rips the baby out of Laura’s arms as she laughs. Tony cuddles his nephew to his chest and nuzzles into his soft hair as the baby whimpers into his chest and holds on tight to his shirt. _“Mi dispiace, Tesoro,” _the man mumbles, pressing kisses there. “I missed you, too.”

“I’m gonna go,” Clint murmurs against Laura’s hair as he hugs her. She looks up at him with apprehension in her eyes, and he sighs. He has a long way to go before that stops, he supposes. He gives her an encouraging smile nonetheless. “I have to talk to Coop.”

She looks up at him with something like pride in her eyes, and he feels a thousand feet tall. And when she leans up on her toes and plants a kiss on his lips, the first one that feels _right_ in so long, he feels as though he can conquer the world. Or his own son, but he thinks _that_ is infinitely more terrifying than anything he’s faced before. And he’s fought aliens in the past.

But this, his son and his family and everything that they had and had lost, is worthy it. it’s worth everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a pretty good first day of uni so y'all get a present too! LOL  
There was a band playing the theme song from Hey Arnold and free food today! Also, my fiction writing professor looks like Kurt Vonnegut (!!!!!!!!!) and he was like "Have you all read 1984 recently? WE thought that was bad, huh? This shit is scary."  
I'm nervous and scared, but I think this semester is gonna be pretty good.  
Anyways! I hope you are all having a wonderful day/week/month and if not I wish you all the luck in things getting better and am rooting for you to kick every problem's ass :D


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When you're offered a second chance do you choose the same path? Or have your mistakes taught you well?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is probably as much of Wanda as I will probably write. It was the hardest thing to not go super bitchy to/about her.

The news come, for Steve at least, out of the blue. It’s been a few days since he’d had a talk with Tony at the cemetery and since then he’s felt a little out of sync. He’s made his very best effort to spend time with his time, sharing meals or training or any of the other things they used to do _before_, and even, surprisingly, babysitting. Though he’s only been brave enough to spend a half hour with Baby Nate alone. He’s not afraid to admit that the other children sort of intimidate him, especially Cooper and the Harley boy, so he’s managed to keep his distance. Baby Nate, on the other hand, had decided that barring his favorite uncle, Steve would suffice. Which is good because Tony had locked himself away again and the soldier figured the baby’s father might actually weep if he had to walk him up and down hallways again.

When Steve had finally crawled out of the Bentley after his talk with Rhodes, he’d been in too bad of a headspace to do anything but beat it down to his room with his metaphorical tail tucked between his legs. In hindsight, he’s grateful that Rhodes had given a bit of Tony’s back story to him. That, perhaps, the lieutenant colonel had decided that despite his screw ups, Steve was worthy of knowing his friend. Hell, his brother. At the moment, though, he’d honest to God wished that Rhodes had spent however long that talk lasted threatening bodily harm rather than outlining in specific detail just how much Steve had misjudged the mechanic.

Tiny fingers grabbing his nose snap him out of the reverie he’s managed to drown himself in, and he’s grateful. He’s quite sure FRIDAY is too since she’d asked him to, please, stop destroying the reinforced bags since she couldn’t replenish them that quickly as she was occupied with overseeing other projects. His cheeks had heated up at the exasperated tone of her voice, but he had apologized nonetheless. His ma hadn’t raised no disrespectful fella, after all.

“’Teve,” Nate coos at him now, a big gummy smile on his face. The baby had refused to let go of his shirt since the morning when Clint had dumped him in Steve’s lap to feed. The blond soldier had been about to protest when he saw Cooper behind his father, a soccer ball tucked under his arm, and a smile on his lips. His eyes had snapped up to meet Clint’s and the unbridled _hope_ in his eyes had Steve nodding quickly. He probably looked like a bobble headed door if the baby’s laughter was any indication, but god he was just so grateful.

Seeing those two go out together, seeing Cooper allow his father to wrap an arm around his shoulders and pull him close, had given him more hope than anything. It seemed as though, slowly but surely, they were pulling themselves back together again. Steve would do whatever he could, even if it was something as simple as baby sitting. He was the one that called Clint out of retirement, after all, and yet… yet here they were.

“”Teve, ‘Teve, ‘Teve,” there was an insistent little hand tapping at his chest, and Steve grinned down at the baby on his chest. They’d practiced his colors in the morning, and then Steve had found the baby’s big legos and had helped him build his towers. Then had helped him tear it down the way _Shammy_ did. Now, the baby had just woken up from his nap and Steve was waiting for him to become a little less groggy to take him into the kitchen for his lunch.

“Yeah, Bot?” Steve said, Tony’s pet name rolling easily off his tongue. Nate beamed up at him and patted his chest again.

“Hungwy, ‘Teve,” the baby said with the cutest pout on his little face. Steve couldn’t help but lean down and give his nose a little eskimo kiss.

“All right, buddy, let’s get you some food,” he heaved himself off the couch and cradled the baby easily on one arm. The boy leaned his head against his shoulder, clearly still sleepy, and babbled at him.

“Unca ‘Ony, ‘Teve?” he asked hopefully. Steve tried to keep his face from smiling too fondly at the now familiar question. For the most part, the baby could go most of the day without needing to see his uncle. He’d look around the kitchen in the morning during his breakfast, but wouldn’t give any other indication of looking for his favorite person. Unless his favorite person disappeared for more than a day, and seeing as Tony hadn’t emerged in a while, the boy was getting in what they now fondly called Tony withdrawal.

“He’s busy right now, bud,” Steve responded as he walked into the kitchen. The other kids were already sitting around the table, and Wanda and Vision were moving around the stove, clearly having picked up their old habit of trying out unfamiliar recipes.

“Duh-mee?” Nate asks hopefully.

“Maybe later,” Steve says, not wanting to promise the boy something he can’t deliver.

“Uncle Tony said we could go play down in the lab later,” Cassie pipes up from where she’s coloring next to Lila.

“Oh, yeah?” Steve says, trying to keep the hope from his voice, as he takes a seat next to Harley. Peter, who had been by the cupboard grabbing a snack, drops a bowl of fruit next to Steve’s elbow without looking at him. Harley looks up at him, an inscrutable look on his face, before Peter nudges him with an elbow as he plunks next to him and they both go back to looking at the schematics in front of them. Steve heaves a sigh, and tries not to feel too disappointed. He’d been _trying_, but so far he hadn’t gotten more than small talk from the boys.

“Yep, Dummy misses us when we’re gone,” Lila pipes up with a bright grin. “Uncle Tony said so.”

“I’m surprised Stark lets anyone down there,” Wanda’s accented voice cuts in. Steve winces. He doesn’t know why her words always sound so hostile when she speaks of the mechanic. He doesn’t know if he’s just making it up in his head now, after everything, or if it had always been like this. He tries to stifle the unease that thought brings up.

The kitchen falls silent at that, except for the sound of Nate babbling and the girls discussing colors, but the rest of them don’t say a word. Steve, looking up from feeding Nate a cube of melon, looks up to notice the dark expressions on the boys’ faces. Peter looks especially ticked off.

“You—“he begins but Harley is quick to grab the boy’s arm before he can get up or continue his sentence. Steve has seen him on the field, knows that he’s much stronger than Harley, but he lets himself be brought down onto the chair and begins to gather his tools.

“You don’t know anything about the mechanic,” Harley tells Wanda without even looking at her. He shakes his head, and grabs the tablet they had been messing with. “Let’s go, we can finish this in my room,” he tells Peter and the other boy nods mutely.

“We’re supposed to be getting lunch!” The girls yell after them, finally having looked up from their project. Which, Steve now realizes, goes far beyond simple coloring. He’s kind of too intimidated to ask what, exactly, they had been creating.

“We’ll get some with Tony later!” Peter hollers back from the hall.

Steve turns to Wanda, notices the crestfallen expression on her face, and Vision’s disapproving look into the pot he’s stirring, and falls silent. So much for hoping, it seems. He continues to feed the baby in silence, finding comfort in the way Nate trusts him to keep him safe, and tries not to think about what had just happened. A big part of him wants to take Wanda aside and have a chat with her, but he knows that she’s feeling guilty enough as it is. Maybe not about Tony, and he feels his hackles rising at the thought, but about making the boys uncomfortable. He makes a mental note to try to talk to her at a later date.

He’s just finishing feeding Nate his fruit, and the girls had eaten whatever Wanda had made for them and were chatting amongst themselves, when Laura, Natasha and the king walk into the kitchen. Steve perks up at their entrance when Laura lets the girls know they’re needed in the living room and makes a beeline for him. He hands the baby over when she extends her arms, and she gives him a look. Laura had been mostly friendly to him, apart from that first day back when Clint had been a dick, but they’re not really close enough for him to know _exactly_ what she wants to tell him. He thinks it looks mostly like a warning, but he doesn’t understand about what.

Still, he stays in his seat as they file out of the room. Natasha stands shoulder to shoulder with the king. Vision maintains his position standing to the side of the chair Wanda is occupying, one hand on its back rest, and looks solemnly at the others. He seems tense, though, as much as he always is. And Natasha’s face is set in grim determination, the way it is before a mission, and Steve feels dread coiling in his stomach. Clearly, this wasn’t just a friendly gathering for lunch.

“We have some news, Ms. Maximoff,” T’Challa begins after sharing a look with Natasha. She merely stares at Wanda.

“What kind of news?” She asks, her accent thickening with nerves. She’s wringing her hands the way Steve has noticed she does when her anxiety spikes, and Vision drops the hand from the chair to her shoulder. She relaxes a bit, one hand coming up to hold his, but she’s still on alert. Steve feels his muscles tightening with tension as he forces himself not to react.

This isn’t about him, and he knows that. He’s managed to muck enough things up trying to protect Wanda, treating her like a kid, to not know when to keep his mouth shut. Still, the urge is there. Every time he looks at her he remembers the way she’d found her after Lagos. Curled up in her bed while the newscasters had tore apart her every action, had accused her of things that she wasn’t. His protective instinct had flared up then, and it’s flaring up now, but he knows he can’t say anything. If there is anything that he’s learned so far is that his meddling isn’t helpful, not always, and he refuses to hurt her more than he already has. His meddling had landed her in the raft, it took a long time for him to realize that, a long while of blaming Tony for it, but he’s begun to recognize his shortcomings a bit better now. At least he hopes. So he keeps his mouth shut.

“News from the UN,” Natasha says, and her voice is unyielding. Steve knows that this is a point where Natasha had had no contention. She had struggled when they were sent to gather the Avengers, she had struggled when fighting them, she had struggled when she’d let him go, she had been torn afterwards and he knows it, but _this_ point had never been in contention. She had always, like Tony, stood by the belief that they were liable for their actions. She had, like Tony and Rhodes, wanted a buffer between their powers and the regular folks out there. Wanda opened her mouth, her tension making all of them uncomfortable, but Natasha continued, “they’re requesting your presence at the hearing.”

“What?” Steve blurted out, not able to keep his words in. He stared up at them incredulously, and Natasha stared back. Her face impassive, but Steve knew her well enough to see beyond the mask. He didn’t like what he saw there. It looked too much like disappointment. “For what?”

“They want to speak to her directly,” Vision said and Wanda whipped her head around to look up at him. She let his hand go, and he stepped back resignedly. She pushed back from her chair and wrapped her arms around herself. “Her pardon has been the hardest to negotiate, and the lawyers believe that it would be best for her to be present when her case is being discussed. As a show of good faith.”

“And if they want to lock her up again? Then what? You just let them?” Steve snapped, and now even T’Challa’s mask broke to show his impatience. The blond refused to stand down, though, not when the stakes had suddenly gotten so high. He had _promised_ Wanda that he would never let her be collared again. He had pledged his word to her, and he wasn’t about to break it. And they all knew it. Everyone in the room was aware of the lengths he would go to for that.

He didn’t feel as comforted about it as he thought he should.

“Of course not, but we don’t believe they will. This has been a long time coming. Her actions have already been discussed, at length,” T’Challa said and his dark, piercing gaze didn’t waver from Steve. “It’s just a matter of judging her mental state. Whether or not she’s truly capable of controlling her powers or not. They have asked others to present themselves, as well.”

“I want to be there,” Steve said at once. If it was witnesses they wanted, then he could be there. He could vouch for her. Hell, he could divert the blame on himself if necessary.

“You’ve not been summoned. You cannot simply present yourself there,” Vision said, and there was an edge to his voice. It was confirmation enough to know that the android was less than thrilled with him, too. _Join the line_, Steve thought sarcastically.

“Then who the hell is? Who’s going to defend her?” He snapped, and the others shared another look.

“They wanted four of us at the beginning, people who had been around her longer,” T’Challa said, his gaze snapping away from Wanda’s nervous behavior to look at Steve again. He looked almost angry. “Ms. Romanov and I will be accompanying her and testifying in her favor. Believe me, Captain, this is no more than a formality.”

“You said four,” Wanda said after a moment of silence. She was still hugging herself, but there was determination in her ace. Steve felt a quick flare of pride in his chest. “Who else did they call?”

Natasha shared a look with Vision, and Steve caught the slight shake of the head the android gave her. Steve got it, in that moment, with perfect clarity. There was only one person who could really exonerate her, at this point, and it had nothing to do with what was out in the public. They had already used him as a spokesperson, after all, he was the front man on the whole Accords circus. It had been his face on the front of tabloids and newscasts, calling for pardons, even if perhaps he wasn’t the one directly in negotiations with the UN. It made sense, really.

“Tony Stark,” T’Challa said, meeting her gaze evenly. “And Colonel Rhodes.”

“They said no?” Steve couldn’t quite mask the incredulousness in his voice. He felt that same ugly dark thing rear its head. The anger and disappointment he carried that often led him to forget the good things Tony did. The twisted part of him that still, despite everything, had a hard time looking past the _genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist _persona the other man was so insistent in cultivating. “Why?”

“They have their reasons and responsibilities,” the king responded, and Steve heard the message loud and clear. _Leave it alone. _

“When is the hearing?” Wanda asked.

“In three days’ time,” he responded, and his face shifted. Instead of the severe look he had given Steve, now he looked reassuring. Wanda stared at him for a second before nodding and excusing herself from the room. Vision followed her after a minute hesitation.

Steve heaved off his chair, already having a plan in mind, and began to make his way out of the room. When he was at the door, Natasha called him back. Her voice had a warning in it. “Leave him be, Steve,” was all she said, but the soldier didn’t have to ask who she meant. He shook her head and moved out of the room.

He was halfway down the stairs when he caught himself. _What are you doing_? The voice in his head asked. He felt his hands curled into fists and heard his labored breathing, and for a moment he didn’t recognize who or where he was. He was already going down to the lab to pick a fight with Tony, the man he had barely managed to get back, maybe, over something he knew nothing about. Natasha and T’Challa had no reason to lie to him; they had been the ones to help him, the entire team, the most. Why would they lie about this? He know, intellectually, that there was no threat. Ross was gone, the Accords were revised, they had been pardoned, but… God. Just when they had begun to feel safe, this happened.

He braced himself against the wall, and turned on his heel. He didn’t exactly feel like company at the moment, so he popped into his room to change into his workout gear quickly, then made his way to the gym in the communal floor. The lights were already on, and there was a punching bag on its hook when he got there, and he thanked FRIDAY. He ignored the almost sigh she gave him in reply.

He managed to only destroy three of them, barely, before he decided that he had burned enough excess energy. Once he was done, he made his way into the kitchen realizing until then that he was starving. He was wiping his face with his towel so he didn’t see the man rushing out of the kitchen. Tony collided solidly with his chest; Steve’s immediately shooting forward to keep him from falling.

“Hey, Cap,” Tony said distractedly, the lenses of his glasses lit up with numbers and words. Steve had barely opened his mouth to reply when the man patted him on the arm and rushed out to the elevator.

“Wait, Tony!” was all he managed to say before the genius was gone.

Anger and disappointment flared up in his chest again, and he sullenly made his way into the kitchen. Clint and Cooper watched him slam cupboards and doors and serve himself a heaping plate of leftovers. He sat on the other side of the table, his expression clearly screaming to be left alone, as he shoveled food into his mouth. The boy and his father finished their own meal quickly before making a strategic retreat from the kitchen.

Steve stowed in his anger for the next day and a half. Every time he asked FRIDAY where her boss was, she informed him that the man was out of the compound. The third time, when she mentioned Manhattan, Steve had felt something like jealousy flare up in his chest. He split his time between the gym and trying to help Wanda prepare for her upcoming hearing. The others, mainly the children, gave them a wide berth. He didn’t want to think about what that meant, if Tasha or Laura had spoken to them, and what it said about their actions that they were clearly kept away.

Finally, on the night before the hearing was supposed to happen, he found Tony lounging on one of the communal living room’s couches. He had a hefty folder on one side, and a tablet on his lap; his feet resting on the coffee table in front of him. There was a cup of coffee next to them, too, and Steve, despite his anger, was still glad that it was nothing alcoholic. He made his way noisily into the room, he had noticed with shame the way Tony flinched now if someone snuck around him from behind, and cleared his throat.

The mechanic looked up at him, clearly unfocused, and gave him a distracted wave. His attention quickly called back to whatever he was doing on the tablet. Steve, not to be deterred, stood close by with his arms crossed over his chest. He needed answers, and there was only one person who would give them to him. He didn’t bother to think about why it meant so much to hear the why out of _Tony_ when it clearly didn’t only involve him.

“Can I help you with something, Cap?” The man said with a sigh. He passed his hand over the screen of his tablet and the screen went black. He looked up at Steve, and the blond felt some of the anger melt away. The genius was clearly exhausted, and he had to bite his tongue at the chastisement that sprung up his throat. He hated it when Tony stayed days on end in the lab, always had.

“I have something to ask you,” it almost came out like a growl. Steve screamed at himself internally, wondering when he had turned into the type of man to become so confrontational, and looked away at Tony’s wince. The mechanic, never to take a challenge sitting down, glared up at the soldier.

“It can’t wait until tomorrow?” the man asked and there was a quiet note of warning in his voice. Steve ignored it.

“It’s about tomorrow, actually,” he said and watched Tony’s face carefully. He needn’t have bothered, though, the mechanic might be a master at keeping his face unchanged but his eyes always gave him away. Steve suspected that’s why he liked his tinted sunglasses so much. He saw the challenge brewing up in Tony’s eyes, and he braced himself.

_Stay. Listen, don’t make this worse. Don’t start a fight. Not now when you’ve both come so far, _Steve thought to himself. It was hard, though, when Tony got to his feet like a big cat ready to spring. His muscles coiled defensively and a look in his eyes that was assessing. _Don’t start a fight!_

“Ah, so they told you about that,” Tony says.

“Yes,” Steve says, and takes a deep breath to try to calm himself down. “I just want to know why.”

“Why what?” Tony asked, one eyebrow raised sardonically at him. He was trying to wind him up, and Steve was surprised in himself that he could recognize it when before he would have jumped at the change to bite the other man’s throat. But there was something about having seen Tony at his most vulnerable, having seen him bite his tongue when he was being yelled at, that gave a man perspective. Tony didn’t react unless he was cornered, and this? Well, remembering their confrontation at the UN when Rhodes had brought him in, he couldn’t say he blamed him. Not when Steve had thrown his efforts back in his face so many times.

Tony was expecting a fight, now. When he hadn’t before; when he had expected the soldier to listen before, Steve had been the one with his hackles up. Steve had been the idiot who had refused compromise when he should have. Now it was his turn to repay Tony, to show him that they could make it through. That they had a chance, damn it. Starting with working through the things that had torn them apart in the first place.

“Nat said they called you in,” Steve said as calmly as he could. Tony merely hummed in reply, his arms flexing where they were crossed across his chest. “Why would you say no?”

“I have no business meddling in that,” Tony said, and his voice was tight. He wasn’t meeting Steve’s gaze, and the soldier blew out a breath. _Don’t start a fight._

“She needs all the help she can get, Tony,” he said instead.

It was, as it turned out, the blow that burst the dam.

Tony looked at him incredulously for a second before he let himself drop on the couch. He leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees, and rested his face in his hands. His shoulders were shaking, and for a second Steve was afraid that he’d sent him reeling again, until he realized Tony was laughing. He would have been angry, would have accused Tony of treating this like a _joke_, but he’d heard this sound before. This fake, broken laughter Tony sometimes did when he couldn’t handle what was going on around him. He’d heard it back with Ultron, once, and shortly after they came back.

“Oh my God, you’ve got to be kidding me,” he said once he had managed to control himself. Steve had settled on the coffee table in front of him so that when, or if, Tony looked up he would be able to see him straight. Steve had noticed that Tony seldom stood face to face with them, especially if they were arguing, because it was so much easier for him to put up a front and divert whoever was screaming at him. “I can’t believe that after everything I’ve done for you _fuckers_ you still want more from me.”

Steve reared back at the venom in his voice, venom he hadn’t heard from the other man since the first days of Clint’s deliberate cruelty, and again felt as though he was missing something. That feeling, more than anything, is what kept him from starting a screaming match. That, and the guilt that always came from realizing that Tony was right. He opened his mouth to say something, but Tony looked up and he found his heart twisting at the look on the other man’s face. At the tiredness and the disappointment there.

“The last time I tried to help, the last time I tried to keep her safe, you all called Clint to bomb this place and attack Vision. I tried my best, because I knew what they wanted to do to her, but none of you would listen. And now you’re asking me to, what? Go out there and put my face for her? You want me to keep the UN and the media off her back? Are you kidding me, Steve?” His voice broke on the blond’s name, and he felt like dirt. God, how did he keep messing up this bad?

“Tony,” he started, begged, but the other man wasn’t finished.

“You wanna know why I _sent her to her room_, Steve?” the mechanic said, derisiveness in his tone. “FRIDAY, roll the file on Scarlett for me.” his eyes didn’t waver from Steve as he handed him the tablet he had previously been looking over. Steve took it with a barely perceptible shake of his fingers, and then gasped. Crudely written messages, pictures of paper notes put together with magazine letters, ugly graffiti and dummies that looked like… “_That_ is what they wanted for her. You think that the news reels were bad, you think CNN questioning her intentions or Fox News asking for her extradition were bad, but none of you had seen any of this. None of you knew, because I was trying to protect you from them. And this isn’t all of it,” Steve looked up in shock. Tony gave him a sad smile, and looked away. “There is a file on every single one of you. You’ve seen some of it, Steve, I know you have. I know what it does to you when you see yourself next to the word fascist,” Steve reared back unconsciously and Tony gave him an apologetic look. “Tell me something, Steve, how many trips around the world do you think I do a year? Hell, per month?”

“I don’t know,” the soldier replied hoarsely.

“I thought so. I won’t bother you with the details, but the things that I have seen… Steve, I know my word doesn’t count for much, but I am no lying when I say keeping her here was the best option. Especially,” Steve sees him hesitate before a steely sort of resolve washes over him and he looks at the soldier in the eye. “Especially when I wasn’t sure I was doing the right thing by protecting her.”

“Tony, what—“Steve starts, wide eyed. He had known that they didn’t have the best relationship. Had known that there was a lot of bad blood there, still, but…

“What she showed me,” Tony begins and Steve notices the way he’s trembling as his hands rub at his thighs. Up and down, up and down. He decides to throw caution to the wind and grabs hold of one of those scarred hands. Tony jolts, but thankfully, doesn’t pull away. Instead, he turns his hand and tangles their fingers together. “Ultron, was my fault,” Tony says slowly and deliberately. Steve opens his mouth, a vehement rebuttal on his tongue, but the mechanic shakes his head. “It was, I admit it. I was—I got desperate. She was right when she said that I didn’t know the difference between saving and destroying the world. I thought the Ultron program would be—a way to prevent it.”

“Prevent what?” Steve asked quietly, his fingers ached a little with how hard Tony was gripping them, but he managed to give a supportive squeeze back.

“The things that she showed me. I—remember what I said? When I asked you if—when I told you why I made him?”

_Isn’t that why we fight? So we get to go home?_ Steve remembers the words, but now that he’s thinking back. Yes, there it is. The desperation. How had he not noticed that before? He merely nods at Tony, feels his heart breaking as the other man tries to compose himself, and stays silent.

“I was thinking about the Ultron program before we went into that bunker. I won’t deny it, but the equation—I couldn’t seem to solve it. I wanted him to be like—sort of like an extension of Jay—“Tony blinks down at their hands and clears his throat. _He misses him_, Steve realizes with a jolt. He hadn’t bothered to think about Tony’s feelings about losing JARVIS. “I wanted him to be a sort of extension of JARVIS. The problem wasn’t that I wanted to create an AI, I’d done that before, but I—I got desperate, and I fucked around with _magic_,” he spits the word out like a curse. “I thought I needed to finish the program as quickly as I could, and damn the rest.”

“We had time,” Steve says, and tries his best to not make it sound like an accusation. He’s not stupid enough to say that they would have helped him work it out, because that is a lie, and he knows it. Every time Tony had started talking about that wormhole, they had all shut him down. He recalls his own uncharitable thoughts about that with shame. God, he had thought Tony was _boasting_ when in truth he had been terrified.

“It didn’t seem that way to me,” the mechanic said with a shake of his head. He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. The grip on Steve’s hand released, and for a moment he was afraid he would let go, but then the grip was back just as fiercely. “She showed me a future I couldn’t change,” his eyes go unfocused and Steve has the irrational urge to shake him. Bring him back. Afraid that Tony won’t come back if he loses himself to the memories. “They were all dead, even the hulk, on some…I don’t even know where it was, but I looked up and there they were. The Chitauri and those big leviathan things, and—and they were all dead. Except us,” the man says and his bright brown eyes lock with Steve’s. There’s a whole conversation passing between them, and Steve feels the bottom drop from his stomach. “Except you, and when I kneeled down next to you to check if you were still breathing you grabbed hold of my arm and you—you told me that I could have saved you. You asked me why I hadn’t done more, and I—when I snapped out of it, I just—I felt like I knew what I had to do. I didn’t want—Steve, please, believe me, I never meant for Ultron to—I wouldn’t—“

Steve yanks him into a fierce hug, his whole frame shaking, as the puzzle finally falls into place. He had been so angry during the Ultron thing. He had thought and called Tony the worst things, and yet—and yet here the man was, years later, shaking from the fear of the things that he had seen. From the things he thought he was responsible for. _It’s okay. You’re all right. I’m sorry, Tony. I’m sorry we didn’t listen,_ he says the words over and over again until Tony’s trembling eases.

When they pull away, Tony’s eyes are red rimmed but he hasn’t cried yet. Steve grabs hold of his hand again, and runs a soothing thumb over the back of it. Tony looks down at the movement for a second before he takes another fortifying breath. “And then when that was all over, I didn’t say anything when you decided to bring her back. I saw the way you protected her, so I just—I didn’t say anything, but let’s just say that there was more than one reason I went back to Manhattan with Pepper,” he’s avoiding Steve’s eyes as though he’s ashamed.

_He was afraid_, Steve thinks with a jolt. Tony hadn’t felt safe in the facility he had created with the team he had helped found, and they had all let him walk away. Had joked with him on the phone about how he still wasn’t a team player. Had let Wanda—“Dear God, what did we do to you,” Steve says out loud.

“Not you,” Tony says quickly and squeezes his fingers.

“Tony,” Steve says near anguished. “Of course us. All of us. We were supposed to be your team. We were supposed to have your back. _I—“_Tony covers his mouth with his hand and shakes his head sadly. _I will be better. Dear God, Tony, I will be so much better_.

“Anyway, I just don’t feel like I’m the best fit to defend her. I don’t have much reason to trust her or give my word for her. I’m sorry, Steve. I really am. I wish I could but I—when they called me in for it, I recused myself. I told them that I couldn’t be impartial so I just—I suggested they call you in, but they—“

Steve stops him, this time, with a chaste kiss on the lips. He pulls away quickly, doesn’t feel like now is the time but being unable to stop himself nonetheless and Tony blinks again. “I’m not exactly impartial, either, Tony. I was—I admit, I was angry when they told me. I’m sorry.”

“You care for her,” Tony says evenly. “I wouldn’t expect anything else from you.”

“That still doesn’t excuse my behavior. I just—Tony, I feel like I’ve failed you so many times already. Long before this stupid war.” Steve drops his eyes in shame. He feels the pain and self-hatred slowly course their way through his body. _Safest hands, _he thinks to himself derisively. How wrong he has been.

“Hey,” Tony says softly, and cups his face in his hands. “I fucked up a lot, too, you know. There are so many things you were and are right to be mad at me about, Steve. When I saw her in the Raft in that thing, I just—_I _let that happen. I was supposed to be doing the right thing, and I put my teammates in a maximum security prison. I may not agree with Barton on most things, but…” he trailed off with a shrug. Steve didn’t say anything, but he leaned down to give the man another chaste kiss.

When they separated, Tony leaned back on the couch and tugged until Steve was sitting next to him. He didn’t let go of the mechanic’s hand, but he draped an arm around his shoulders. Tony wiggled around until he was comfortably nestled against Steve’s side. They didn’t say anything, but Steve was grateful for the silence. His mind began to whirl around with the things Tony had told him. Now it was Tony’s thumb running soothing circles on his hand.

And when the weight of how much _he hadn’t known_ drops onto Steve and he has to blink up at the ceiling to keep the tears at bay, Tony’s there to press kisses to his shoulder. He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t offer empty platitudes or meaningless comfort. He merely lets Steve’s thoughts run their course while he holds his hand.

Steve’s thought this before, many times, but he now knows for certain that he’s barely just begun to learn the sheer goodness of Tony Stark’s heart. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finished my homework so we all get a present :D
> 
> Also, the way Steve reacts to Wanda's court date and stuff I basically got stuck in that scene from Civil War when they're in the conference room and he throws a fit with the whole "she's just a kid!!" Thing. And I wanted to like think that there was a way for him to redeem himself after that. I like to think that MCU Steve doesn't know what Wanda showed Tony, and that being confronted with the truth will give him perspective. So we ended up here.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve makes a choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um... Hello.   
I had the idea for this chapter for a very very long time. While I don't have any idea of how to finish this fic anymore, I took the time to re read it a couple of weeks ago, and I felt the need to write. I'm sorry if it's not great or anything but I'm quite happy that I managed to get another chapter in.

The morning of the hearing, he’s sitting alone in the communal living room. There’s a cooling cup of black coffee sitting on the table in front of him as he looks out the window to the trees surrounding the facility. Usually, he would be on his morning run around this time. It’s barely begun to get light, and he loves running around the perimeter when it’s cool and he gets to just _breathe_ for a second before the reality of his life and his responsibilities come crashing down on him.

The others seem to think that he likes his morning runs because of who he is. Steven Grant Rogers, born promptly at six am on the Fourth of July. They think that it’s just more proof that he was _meant_ to be Captain America. Sometimes, on his worst days, he smiles at the jokes and feels his stomach turn at how plastic and tight it feels on his face. He doesn’t refute the comments, but oh, are they wrong about them. The truth is that Steve’s penchant for being awake so early wasn’t because of the serum. It had more to do with the mornings when his chest felt tight and on fire as another bout of cold hit his skinny, sickly frame. It was due to another fever that woke him up too early. He’d liked being awake early when he was a kid and his Ma was sleeping off another double shift on the cot next to him. He’d lay there and look at her, play with her hair and massage her bony shoulders. Sometimes, if he was lucky and his Ma or Buck had the time, he’d get the treat of having a good book to read or a new sketchbook and pencils to crack into.

After the serum, it had just become a habit to be awake so early. The thing in his veins meant that he didn’t need that much sleep. There was always a constant thrum of energy running through him. The need to _do_ something. So when he’d gotten bigger, he’d taken to running in the early mornings before the rest of his unit was even up. He’d run drills with the other guys, sure, but he’d liked the lonely mornings best. After the ice, running felt even more important. Central Park or any other patch of green he could find made the tightness in his chest ease, if only a little bit. SHIELD HQ and the old facility had always felt like a godsend. Being able to just take off for a few hours to run through the trail set up for training had allowed him to just breathe.

This morning, though, he’d taken one look at the man sleeping beside him and knew that there was no way that he would be getting his morning run in. Not only that it was nearly seven in the morning, far later than he usually woke up, but he couldn’t afford to not be in the compound when the others woke up. He knew that most of them would be on their way out the door earlier than they usually did. It was already six in the morning, and he could hear the faint stirrings of the others as they got ready to leave the Compound.

He looked out the window for a few more minutes before he took a deep swallow of his coffee, grimacing at the coldness of it, but being loath to waste it even now. When he heard feet padding towards the kitchen, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath to center himself. The way he did before a battle. He knew that he was dealing with his teammates, his friends… hell, most of the time he called them his family, but he knew this was still a point of contention amongst them. He _knew_ he was about to give some of them a blow they might not forgive him for. Still, he closed his eyes and thought about last night and the way Tony had looked this morning curled up on his chest with exhaustion heavy on his face and couldn’t find it himself to back down from his plan.

Soft voices were coming from the kitchen and he braced himself before he entered it. He expected Clint or Natasha or even Vision and Wanda, but what he found was Rhodes leaning against the breakfast counter while Tony rooted around the cupboards for food. He glanced briefly at the frown on the colonel’s face before he moved towards the sink to deposit his cup before moving towards Tony. His eyes briefly met Rhodey’s and though it was still so hard to read the other man he felt as though there was a hint of approval there.

“Morning, Cap,” Rhodes said with mock cheer. His eyes were still trained on his brother’s back.

“Morning, Rhodey.” His eyes were for Tony, alone, though. From his profile, Steve could see the deep bags under his eyes and the lines around his eyes. He looked as exhausted as he had been last night, and considering he seemingly hadn’t managed to stay asleep after Steve had left the bed this morning, he wasn’t surprised. _His_ body was equipped with the serum, he already didn’t need more than a few hours at the time, but Tony had already been running on fumes as it was. Steve moved to his side and cautiously put a hand on the other man’s back and smoothed it up and down in an attempt at comforting.

“Morning,” Tony said quietly and the corner of his mouth quirked up into a tired smile. Steve heaved a quiet sigh of relief. Though it wasn’t the happy smile he got around his boys or baby Barton, at the very least it wasn’t the fake one he adopted when he was talking to the press and far too often around them these days. Steve was infinitely grateful that he hadn’t managed to set them back that far ahead.

“Hey,” Steve replied quietly. His eyes flickered briefly to Rhodes, who was pretending to be engrossed on a tablet but Steve could tell was actually watching them, before going back to Tony. “I didn’t expect you to be up until later.”

“Mmm,” Tony says, a little evasively, as he pours cereal in three bowls and turns to look at the coffee brewer. Steve shakes his head, deciding not to make an argument out of it but making a mental note to get him to at least take a break later on, and goes to sit down next to Rhodes.

“Hey,” he says again, this time to the Colonel, as he takes a seat while Tony bustles around the counter with his cereal and coffee. “How ya feeling?”

Rhodes looks at him with a blank expression for a long time. Steve, feeling guilt curl in his stomach, does all he can to look back. He knows, _he knows_, that he deserves the way the other man is looking at him. It has been a long time, and he has been angry and insecure for a lot of it, and so he hadn’t even tried. When Rhodey had kept him in the car after he saw Tony at the cemetery was the first time they had even had an actual conversation. They had been friends, damn it, back before the Accords messed happened. They had ribbed each other good naturedly about their branches, had sparred on their free time; Rhodey had helped him with the history he’d missed and even some of the pop culture when Tony wasn’t around. They had had rapport, and he was damned if he was going to keep laying down while all of that was taken away. He had already lost the people that mattered to him once, and, if for nothing else, his ill-advised overzealousness for Bucky was proof that he would fight for the people he called friends.

“Fine,” Rhodey said and Steve felt his face fall in disappointment. He nodded, resigning himself to the silence, before he heard the colonel sigh next to him. “Braces hurt like a bitch this morning,” Rhodes continued after a pause and Steve turned back to him, hoping his eagerness wasn’t too obvious, but not really giving a damn if it was. This… Rhodes didn’t talk about his paralysis or his braces or his pain to _anyone_ who wasn’t Tony. He didn’t trust them, which was completely fair, but Steve understood how important this was, now. “Woke me up way earlier than I would have wanted. I was on my way to the gym when I found him,” he says with a nod to where Tony is now scrounging around looking for the cane sugar he prefers on his coffee though he would swear up and down he takes it black. Like his soul. Steve used to laugh at that, but after the genius’s confession the night of their confrontation over the hearing he’s not sure he finds it so funny. “He thought you were gone.”

“Gone where?” Steve asks, alarmed.

“On your run,” Rhodey says and there’s a smile on his face. Some of the defensiveness goes out of his posture, and Steve is grateful though a part of him is still sad. It will take a while, it seems, for his friends to stop expecting him to take off. He can’t say he blames him, leaving Tony in Siberia may have been the worst, but it certain wasn’t the _first_ time he’d gone out in a half-assed trip to look for his best friend while leaving his family behind. _I can do it. It will take a while, but I can, _he tells himself. “Figured you’d still want to get one in before you all left for the trial.”

Before Steve can open his mouth to say anything, Tony turns around with a proud smile on his face. He has a bowl of cereal on his hand and he places it in front of Steve, then one in front of Rhodey and another on the space next to the blond. Then, he brings the coffees over. He places a plain white mug with the words “Espresso Patronum” on the empty space next to his cereal, another one with the words “I am an <strike>engeneer engineer engenere </strike>I’m good with math,” in front of Rhodey and finally the plain blue with the shield in front of Steve.

Then he just stands there and looks at them.

“Uh, thank you?” Rhodey says and looks at Steve. The blond can’t help the smile that over takes his face as he shakes his head.

“I made you breakfast,” Tony says and grins at them. There’s a mischievous sparkle in his eyes that they have missed desperately, and they laugh. Maybe a little harder than necessary seeing as it’s six forty seven in the freaking morning and all he’d done was pour cereal and milk on bowls, but damn it if seeing him smile isn’t the most wonderful thing.

“I can see that,” Steve says and brings a spoonful of the cereal up to his mouth without even looking at it. Which is a mistake as he promptly spits it back out. He looks down at the bowl and the offending bright chunks floating on his milk and staining everything in off-putting colors and turns to stare at Tony in disbelief. “You didn’t,” he says, with feeling. 

Tony is bent over the counter laughing and Rhodey, who had followed Steve’s lead with the cereal, is thumping his chest and trying to dislodge the cereal. They’re both laughing so hard they’re almost crying, and Steve tries to keep the frown on his face. It’s hard, though, when Tony gets a paper towel to wipe the counter and goes to sit down next to him with a big smile on his face. He swaps their bowls, and this time Steve looks down quickly and notices his, thankfully, plain cheerios.

“Sorry, that never gets old,” Steve knows that he’s not sorry at all if the grin on his face is anything to go by, but he doesn’t mind. Not when there’s the solid, warmth weight of the man’s thigh pressed tightly next to him and the constant brush of their elbows as they eat in companionable silence. Tony’s fingers brush his as they grab their mugs, and Steve turns in time to see him hide his small smile on the rim of his cup. He can’t help but smile back and resolutely ignores Rhodes’s muttered “Really? Right in front of my cereal?”

Minutes later they hear voices approaching the kitchen. Steve watches Tony straightening in his seat and Rhodey’s posture change as they get closer. The bubble they had been wrapped up in bursting around them and taking the sense of _belonging_ right out of the room with it. Tony, he notices with an unreasonable sense of panic, is inching away from him. Without thinking, and even if he had he knows he would have done the same, he grabbed hold of the genius’s hand and threaded their fingers together on top of his thigh. Brown eyes blinked up at him in confusion, something like awe deep in them, but he didn’t try to pull it away. Steve let out a breath and turned to look at the entrance.

Wanda, Vision, Tasha, Harley, Peter and Clint carrying a fussy Baby Barton walked into the kitchen then. Clint, looking haggard and like he hadn’t slept in days, zeroed in on Tony and immediately dumped the baby on him. Peter and Harley snorted with laughter as the man promptly told them to wake him when they were ready to go and then slumped against the counter and started snoring. Steve, who’d let go of Tony’s hand as soon as the baby was on him, place a hand on the little boy’s back and looked around the room questioningly. His other arm remained around the back of the genius’s chair and he saw the way Natasha and Wanda focused on that. Tasha with a raised eyebrow and Wanda with something Steve didn’t particularly like in her eyes.

“Is he okay?” Tony asked and poked Clint on the arm. The archer merely grumbled and readjusted and then went back to sleep. Baby Barton had face planted onto Tony’s chest and was gnawing at his shirt.

“He’s getting the flu,” Peter said, already munching on some cereal. He had managed to get himself a couple of sandwiches, an apple, a cup of jello that was meant for the girls and Nate, his cereal and a cup of coffee. Harley, with slightly less food, was munching not less enthusiastically. Tony turned to him with an unimpressed look at the sheer amount of food, and raised an eyebrow. “Cooper texted us last night,” he said pointing at Harley, who nodded and went back to his book. “Said his parent couldn’t sleep ‘cause the Bot kept crying. Think he got a fever or something.”

Steve’s hand immediately went to the baby’s forehead to feel for his temperature, but he didn’t feel overly warm, thank God. He shared a concerned glance with Tony who held the baby closer. Baby Barton was now sleeping on his chest with a thumb in his mouth. He guessed Laura and the girls were still trying to catch up on sleep if Clint had brought the baby out with them.

The others made sympathetic noises and moved around the room to prepare their breakfast. Nobody disturbed Clint, they all figured they could get protein bar or a sandwich in him before they let, and ate in companionable silence though Steve noticed that Wanda sat herself as far away from Tony as she could get without leaving the room. He grit his teeth to keep himself from saying anything and rather focused on Natasha as she outlined their agenda for the day. Halfway through, Sam and Scott walked in bleary eyed and immediately shoved each other to get to the coffee machine. Tony looked at them with amusement and reminded them that if he found coffee grains in the disposal again they would be having words. Scott, who had been walking in that direction, smiled sheepishly and immediately swerved away from it.

At eight am, they were all breakfasted and much more awake. They were due at the UN at nine fifteen, but they figured they should be getting ready to leave. As if on cue, T’Challa and Everett Ross and, surprising the living daylights out of everyone who knew him, Agent Phil Coulson walked into the room. Tony covered Nate’s ear and swore vehemently while Steve and Rhodey stared up at him wide eyed and Clint snorted loudly. Natasha, Steve noted absentmindedly, didn’t react at all. Sam, Scott, and Wanda stared between the newcomers and the others with curiosity. Vision merely smiled serenely.

“You’re alive,” Steve said breathlessly and it was testament to how surprised they were that Tony didn’t rib him for stating the obvious.

“I am,” Phil said simply. He stared down at Steve and he had the distinct feeling that there was a talk in his future that he would not enjoy. Phil’s eyes briefly dropped to Steve’s arm wrapped around Tony and then to Tasha. There was a whole conversation there, and Steve bit his lip to stifle his curiosity. “Tasha called me once you were back. Said you might be needing help from someone with experience doing… damage control.”

“Sorry, for those of us in the room who have no idea what’s going on, who are you?” Scott said through a mouthful of toast. Sam whacked him on the back of the head and said _dude_ but they could tell he was curious too. Wanda was eyeing him wearily and Vision placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. Steve guessed they had managed to make up when she didn’t immediately shake him off.

“My apologies. Hello, my name is Agent Phil Coulson. I used to work for SHIELD until my… _accident_, and was put out of commission for a while. I was handling another problem when the Accords were proposed or I would have been here to try to aid you all. I’m sorry about that,” Steve turned to look at him, but found that Phil wasn’t looking at him at all, but rather at Tony. Something squeezed in his chest when he saw his genius nod back solemnly. But I am here now, and I have been made aware of the situation. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve had to deal with damage control of this kind, and I figured you needed all the help you could get, Ms. Maximoff.”

“You don’t even know me,” she said, her voice torn between uncertainty and defiance. It was a common conflict of emotion for her, Steve had noticed.

“I don’t,” Phil said simply with a small smile. “But I know the people in this room, and I know _none_ of them would keep you in this compound if they didn’t think you needed the help. I know they wouldn’t be putting this much effort if they didn’t consider you a part of their team.”

Though he didn’t say it out right, it was fairly implied that the agent meant Tony. The tightening of Wanda’s jaw said that she knew it, too. The mood in the room took a deep dive after that, and soon Peter and Harley were scrambling to put their dirty dishes in the washing machine and crowding around Tony. Rhodey, as well, managed to get to his feet with only a quiet grunt of pain before he was moving towards the exit and telling Tony that he would be waiting for him in the lab.

“Can we come too?” Harley said with painfully false cheer in his voice.

“Yeah, you said we could come visit you and the boys. Har wants to see some of the improvements we made to the web shooters last time. Plus, the roadsters still needs a tune up! He could help,” Peter continued just as enthusiastically. Tony glanced up at his boys in amusement and exasperation, but merely nodded and they were off like a rocket. “We’ll see you down there!”

Steve’s arm tightened around Tony’s shoulders and the genius turned to look at him with a worried frown. The blond tried his best to stomp down in the flare of self-hatred he always got when Tony looked that uncertain, and managed a smile back. He couldn’t tell him everything, not now, couldn’t tell him what he’d thought about for the last few days and especially last night when he’d managed to calm Tony down from his latest nightmare and had been allowed to wrap himself around the man. Couldn’t tell him how he’d decided, right there and then, that he was no longer capable of doing something that he knew would hurt the other man too much. Not now that he knew the whole truth. He couldn’t tell him all of that right now, but he would. He _would. _

“Guess I’ll see you later?” Tony said with uncertainty and Steve was quick to nod. He wanted to kiss him, but that was another thing they hadn’t really talked about. Just having his arm wrapped around him was a dead giveaway, but Steve wasn’t stupid enough to do anything else without permission. He didn’t want to risk another moment being soured because one or both of them wasn’t in the right headspace. So he contented himself with slowly dragging his arm away from the chair and giving Nate one last comforting stroke to his tiny back.

Tony was already at the entranceway when he turned around, baby asleep on his chest, and his eyes met Wanda’s square on. He was fidgeting, and Steve could tell it immediately put him, and Sam and Tasha, on edge, but his gaze didn’t waver. Wanda’s face was set in the same mask she always had when dealing with the genius, but thankfully her fingers weren’t sparking red magic. Steve didn’t know what he would do if he saw that again, truth be told. And then, proving once again the type of man he was, Tony said, “Good luck,” in such a solemn way that hit them all like a punch. He gave her a nod and strode out of the room after T’Challa gave him a smile and a comforting squeeze to his shoulder.

“Very well,” the king said now addressing the occupants of the room. Tasha gave a solid kick to Barton’s stool that had him springing up into a seated position at once. He had drool on his cheek and he wiped at it as he stared blearily around the room. Sam, rolling his eyes, pushed a plate with toast and some eggs his ways and the archer began eating without even questioning what was going on. Everett Ross looked on with a raised eyebrow, and Phil smiled indulgently at his former charge. “I am sure you are all aware of your roles for the proceedings today. Those of you who are witnessing on behalf of Ms. Maximoff have already been briefed on what is expected of you. This is just some last minute reminders that you must all be on your best behavior today. The prosecution will try to get a rise out of you, and they will bring up some painful events in your collective past, however, it is important that you maintain a leveled head.”

Though his words weren’t directed at just one person in the room, Steve saw T’Challa’s eyes flicker to Clint and himself often. He met the archer’s eyes across the table and saw the slight shame in the other man’s eyes. Yeah, he wasn’t the only one who was getting the message loud and clear. T’Challa then went on to explain how the proceeding was to go and a bare-bones summary of what SI’s lawyers had prepared for the defense. Steve had read the report a few times through in the past few days and felt his chest loosen each time. It was clear that whoever Tony had hired knew what they were doing, and genuinely wanted to help. He knew Wanda was in good hands even if they weren’t his own. It had been a hard pill to swallow, but he felt confident in that they were going to bring her back safely.

“Now, Captain Rogers,” Phil’s voice pulled him out his reverie. The others had filed out of the room to gather their things and it was only him, Wanda, Vision and Phil in the room. The agent was now standing at the table near Steve though he hadnt taken a seat. “The king felt it necessary that I speak to you about the expectations of you as an approved guest. First and foremost I feel I must remind you that you are _not_ there to testify, and that while I know that—“

“Phil, please,” Steve said raising a hand to stall the other man’s words. He felt his cheeks flush in embarrassment but he straightened his spine and looked at the agent head on. “While I appreciate the reminder, I have to say that it won’t be necessary,” he saw the way the other man raised a sardonic eyebrow at him and opened his mouth. “I spoke with Tony last night. I won’t be attending.”

“What?” it was the first time Wanda had opened her mouth since she arrived in the kitchen. She was looking at him with something like confusing and betrayal in her face. Steve felt sadness swirl in his chest at her crestfallen look, and for a second he considered backing out. He thought about attending the trial and being there for her, but that was quickly stamped down by too many memories. He had been told to stand down before to protect his family, and he hadn’t done it. He had thought he had known best, and in the end everything had gone to hell in a handbasket. He knew himself, knew his temper, and while he had made leaps and bounds to stave off the instinctual need to _fight_ he knew that he couldn’t test it in this. If he did something stupid, it wasn’t just on him anymore. If he did something stupid the repercussions would fall on Wanda first, and then on the man who had trusted to keep him safe last night. He couldn’t do that to either of them. “You said you’d be there. You promised you’d help me.”

“I did,” Steve said, feeling the words hit him like a blow. “Which is why I’m staying at the compound. I talked to Tony, and he told me why I was considered a liability more than an asset to you. If I’m in the room, they’ll lump you in with me. They’ll try to—to blame you for _my_ failings. I won’t let them.” The words felt like ash in his mouth and Steve knew that he was lying. They felt exactly like telling Tony _I didn’t know it was him_. He shook his head to dispel the painful memory and met Wanda’s eyes. “I talked to Tony,” he said again and he could tell that the inflection wasn’t lost on Wanda. He expected to see shame in her eyes, and he was incredibly glad that there was a bit of that, but he was disheartened at the anger. “I’m sorry, Wanda,” he said as he got to his feet. He meant it with every fiber of his being. “I can’t testify for you. I won’t be able to be there today.”

He didn’t wait for her reply or to see what she’d do. He was already conflicted enough to see the emotions on his face. He always caved at seeing her sadness, and he knew it. He always felt like _he _was the one that was supposed to fix it. It’s why he’d taken her side, why he had started argument after argument with Tony when the genius didn’t drop by the compound. Why he always called her a kid and defended her mistakes. He always had caved before because he thought his hands were the safest, to keep her from harm, but that wasn’t really true, was it? Sure, he had kept her safe, but at what cost? He had been taking and taking and taking from Tony to pretend like she was faultless, like she had to be protected, like she was the only one that had been hurt. He only had to think about the raw pain and desperation in Tony’s voice when he spoke about his vision to cement his resolution.

As he was making his way out of the room he caught sight of Phil. The agent’s bland mask was still in place, but he was looking at the captain straight on. Steve wasn’t quite sure if he was correct, but he thought he saw something like approval in the other man’s eyes. He hoped he was right because right now he felt like he was left adrift. He didn’t know if he had done the right thing, but he knew it _felt_ like the right thing. The closer he got to the lab, the looser his chest felt and the easier it was to breathe. Maybe… maybe this was what it felt like to finally fight for the man he loved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To all of you wonderful, lovely people who left encouraging comments and love when I decided to discontinue this fic, I want you to know that you all made me feel so, so much better. It legit brought tears to my eyes to have you guys tell me that you understood. I'm so grateful that you have given me the time and the open-mindedness to read through this and wait patiently for updates. I am so so grateful for each and every one of you.   
This chapter is for and because of you.   
Thank you, from the bottom of my heart.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe it's time to put the compass away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all!   
Steve and I have had a lot of growing up to do. I'm glad I finally got some inspiration to get back to this story.   
For those of y'all who have hung around this long and keep sending loving, encouraging messages, I wanted to tell you all how thankful I am. I'm sorry I didn't get back to everyone individually.   
Also, I hope you are all keeping safe through this global crisis. I wish you the best if you're in a difficult situation right now, and that it gets better at some point. In the mean time, I hope reading these stories brings you a little respite.

Steve thought about leaving for the gym, or maybe even a run, after he left the others in the dining room. He tried to shake the look on Wanda’s face out of his mind, but it seemed to haunt him as he worked his way to the training room. He felt torn in two, in that moment, but he couldn’t shake the guilt that gnawed at him the longer he was away from his friend. Not for the first time, he wondered if he had made the right choice in letting her go on her own. He’d worked himself into a state, not even changing into his workout clothes or taping his hands, and had decided to say to hell with everything and accompany Wanda and the others, when he turned around and caught a glance of the training shield Tony had made for him to train with.

_You don’t deserve that shield! My father made that for you!_ The memory hit him square between the eyes like a physical blow, and he took a step back. What in the actual hell was wrong with him? Would. He really go back on a _promise_ he’d made his lover, his _friend_, again? Wanda was a kid, nobody would ever convince him otherwise, but… but it wasn’t all on him anymore, was it? Early on in his relationship, he had accused Tony of always thinking he knew better than everyone else. He had been a hypocrite then, and all his tenure as the de-facto leader of the Avengers, he had been accusing Tony of his own faults.

_Would Pietro see it the same way?_ Steve had had enough conversations with Wanda to earn some insight into the younger man’s thoughts. He had asked her, early on, about the relationship between them, about the boy who had tried to protect her… the reason she had joined them to begin with. Pietro had loved her, Steve knew this, desperately and completely, but that had never blinded him. _He was the one that said we might have been wrong, harsh; I thought he had been—how do you say, blinded by your power. He seemed impressed with your archer friend_, she had smiled when she said it. The sad smile Steve knew graced his face before he had gotten Bucky back. He had tried to fill that for her, he realized, after they had inadvertly caused so much loss in her life, but he had never treated her as an equal. The entire time they were “in the same side” he had treated her as his child, not his sibling, and in so doing perhaps had taken more responsibility than he should have.

_For God’s sake, Steve, she’s a grown woman! You can’t keep treating her like a kid!_ But he hadn’t listened, and even though he hadn’t been the only one, he might have been the most overzealous. Now, they were so deep in shit that they couldn’t even begin to see a way out. Fugitives, criminals, outcasts… depending on the man they had reviled when he had been trying to help. He should have done better, he should have—he huffed out a breath and pulled at his hair.

_I need to stop_, the thought came sudden and sharp and it left him reeling. He had never thought about what he did as something that would eventually lead to this decision. Back in his time, people didn’t really talk about the aftermath of their trauma. That wasn’t a conversation for… ever, really. Men who had come back from war had been called heroes, and if they came back a little different, a little jumpier, a lot more despairing, then they were called heroes and people looked the other way. Maybe he had gotten too used to that, even when he thought himself different and his mother and Bucky had called him sensitive, maybe he had tried to hold too much of his past with him to this time. _I need to stop_, he thinks again, even when he’s not exactly sure what it is that he means.

Whatever it is, he thinks, he’s not going to be able to do it alone. There’s nothing for him to punch here. Nothing that he can see that will come and knock him against a trashcan in a filthy Brooklyn alley. Bucky is far away, and his ma has been gone a long while. There’s no Peggy to take charge, or Howard to charm their way out of trouble. There’s no Erskine with a crazy plan to make him better, no ailment to find a miracle cure for. For a second the despair of that almost overwhelms him, but on the exhale of that breath he remembers that he hasn’t been alone. Not since that faithful day when he saw a Tin Can falling out of the sky after pulling that hail mary.

The ugly part of his brain asks, _how are you planning on beating this?_

With one last look at the shield the best man he’s ever known made him, Steve smiles and thinks, _together. _

***

What he finds in the workshop is what he has heard Shuri refer to as _pure chaotic energy_. The first thing he hears when FRI opens the door is the, frankly, beautiful sound of Tony’s laughter accompanied by Nate’s giggle. Rhodes has rolled out from underneath the roadster, a socket wrench in his hand and a huge smile on his face even though it’s clear he’s trying to look stern. DUM-E is in the middle, with his claw hanging low and a blender jug grasped tightly, while being flanked by Peter and Harley. Both boys are drenched in a slimy green liquid, and very clearly scolding the poor bot. Tony’s usually loud rock music has been switched to something that sounds… remarkedly different, and playing at a lower level than he’s ever heard.

He stands there for a while, breathing in the ever present smell of grease and Tony’s expensive cologne, and lets the sense of _home_ settle on his shoulders. It’s lighter and warmer than the weight he’s carried since he held Erskine in his arms.

When he hears DUM-E beep quietly, though decidedly defensive, he thinks it’s about time he intervenes. Harley is grinning though Peter is reaching Tony’s level of scolding the poor boy, hand on his hip and the other pointing at the bot.

“These guys givin’ you any trouble, buddy?” he says with a grin that becomes wider when DUM-E looks up with his camera and makes a shrieking noise. Clearly, he had been waiting for a helping hand even though his brothers are on the side without having made a peep. The little guy drops the jug, causing Harley to double over laughing and Nate’s giggles to get louder in response, before rolling over to hide behind Steve grasping his shirt.

Tony’s eyes are wide as he looks at him, a sense of wonder in his face, even though he hasn’t gotten up or slacked his hands around the baby. Steve’s sense of self-hatred makes him feel small, but he resolutely pushes that away and looks down to the claw clipped onto his shirt. He pats the poor boy to comfort him, and he makes a definite whining beep back at him.

“These guys buggin’ you, Dum?” he pats the little bot again. There’s a beat of silence for which Steve doesn’t look back, the atmosphere with the boys and even Rhodes a little too tenuous, and continues to pat the bot.

“Told you not to leave him unsupervised,” Tony’s voice says and he sounds much closer than he should. Steve looks up in time to have Bart-Bot get thrown into his arms.

“Stop throwing the bot, Tony,” Rhodey says in an exasperated voice, back under the roadster with Harley sitting at his side. The boy, miraculously, gives Steve a grin from his position. He smiles back cautiously.

“’Teve! Ahhh!” Nate says and gnaws at his cheek. Steve blows a raspberry onto the baby’s cheek that sends him into a fit of giggles.

“Yes, Peter needs to clean up his mess, Bart-Bot. Dum-dum, go help your brother,” Tony says, now at Steve’s side, but he has a mischievous grin on his face as he pretends not to hear Peter’s stuttering or notice his red cheeks. “Hey, you.”

“Hi, sweetheart,” Steve says quietly, still unsure of where they stand with the displays of affection in front of the others, and especially in front of the boys.

“Someone woke up missing you,” Tony says fondly as he looks at the baby in his arms. The bot displays his newest trick and blows a raspberry at the genius. The dark-haired man looks affronted at the boy and then tickles him, a grin on his face. “Oh, that’s how it is? Huh, troublemaker?” Steve can’t help his laugh as he tries to shield the boy, throwing him into even louder giggles. 

“You guys are so gross,” Harley’s voice says from their vicinity after a couple minutes of this game. Tony’s cheeks are ruddy with merriment and Steve knows there’s a big besotted grin on his face. His early melancholy, though present, has ebbed. “We’re gonna go play videogames,” he grins at them as he passes by.

“What he said,” Peter says with a grin, and even goes as far as pat Steve on the back as he goes by. Tony lunges to rustle his hair, but the boy is too fast and dodges out of the way.

“Oh, hell no, I’m not staying here for this,” Rhodey says as he wipes his hands on a rag. He motions for Steve to hand over the baby as the soldier blushes at the intense gaze of the other man. “That was a disgusting display of domesticity, but I can’t keep letting you both traumatize him. He’s an impressionable bot,” he tickles Nate’s tummy to get himself a quiet giggle and some choice words. “Tony, use protection!” he throws over his shoulder as he leaves.

“I don’t know him,” Tony mutters under his breath, and Steve grins at him as he pulls him into his arms. “You doing all right?” the genius mutters when Steve buries his face into his hair. He’s once again amazed at how intuitive Tony can be about other people’s emotions. His empathy is one of the things that changed his perception of the man.

Steve has the full intention of circumventing the question, and hiding for a little longer. Tony, however, has always known him too well. Even in that stuffy conference room, Tony had seen right through Steve’s shoddy attempts at bullshit and hit him with the truth. “No,” he says into the curls pressed against his lips. Tony’s arms tighten around his waist in response, but he doesn’t say anything. “I’m sorry I made you think I’d go back on my word this morning.”

“Steve—”

“No, let me—“he blows a breath to his nose. He feels his jaw clamping shut, fighting against his weakness, but he forces himself to open his mouth. “Wanda reminds me of myself, sometimes. She’s so young and she’s already lost so much, so when she’s… every time she’s in trouble, I feel like it’s on me. I had Bucky, back when I was growing up and I lost my Ma, and I always knew how lucky I was to even have that much. Every time you kept telling me she wasn’t a kid, I—in some way, I knew that. I _know_ that, but it still feels as though it’s my job to keep her safe, but… there are so many choices I’ve made that just ended up taking her in a more destructive path. That’s on me.”

“You’ve always tried to do the right thing, Steve,” Tony says quietly, ear pressed onto his chest against his heartbeat. “I’ve known that from the start.”

“that doesn’t excuse the mistakes I made, Tony. All the ways I hurt her, and the team, and you.”

“You don’t have to worry about me, Cap,” the other man says and even though Steve can’t see his face he is intimately acquainted with the self-deprecating tone to his voice. His arms instinctively tighten around his lover, wishing with all his heart that he could burrow the other man inside so that he can feel just how loved he is.

“I know,” Steve murmurs into his hair. “I still want to, though. So, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking. I realized that I’ve been… stuck, still after all this time. I don’t want to make the same mistakes I’ve been making since I woke up, so I think… I think I need to stop. For a while.”

“Steve?” Tony’s voice is hesitant as he pulls away to look up into the soldier’s eyes. He expects to see—he doesn’t know what he’s expecting to see, but it’s not the fragile hope he finds there. He wants to kiss the fear hidden behind the hope away. “ Stop?”

“I can’t be Captain America like this, Tony,” the blue-eyed man says with a shaky smile.

“Steve, we’ve been over this. Wanda’s trial is a formality, at best. The lawyers are ready; you guys have been pardoned already, we just have to—”

“That’s not what I meant,” Steve says with a small smile. He can’t express what it’s like to feel Tony’s unshakable faith in him. Even when he has screwed up and hurt him so badly. Tony’s heart is so pure, and he doesn’t even seem to notice. “I meant in here,” he brings up a hand to tap at his temple. “I haven’t been okay since losing Bucky on that train, but I was too stubborn and too angry to really let that sink in. Looking back,” he shakes his head and hugs Tony closer, “so many of the mistakes could have been avoided if I had given myself time. Even knowing I wasn’t okay, at times, I pushed myself to push forward.”

“Stopping is hard,” Tony says with a half-smile, his eyes far away. “I tried way too many times to do just that, but—honestly, it wasn’t until our fight when I started realizing how much I needed to. What I saw in that vision,” one of Steve’s hands pets the back of his head when he mentions that and Tony smiles, “messed me up for a long time. It’s what made Pepper leave. I just _couldn’t _stop, and I ended up doing more damage than I ever wanted to. I broke so much, but,” Tony sighs and shakes his head. “What I’m saying is, it’s really hard, but maybe we all need some time.”

“I’m starting to see that,” Steve says softly. “Captain America means so much to people, to _me_, but I can’t be him if I’m a mess. And I am, Tony, I get so _angry_ sometimes and I take it out on the completely wrong people. And I know how unfair it is, but I just don’t know how to _stop_ and—” Steve feels himself getting worked up into a state. His breathing in picking up and the angry tears are welling up in his eyes.

“Hey, hey, baby, look at me,” Tony says softly, hands framing Steve’s face. “It’s fine, all right? Everyone here, the boys included, understand that to an extent. We’ve been through this alone, and nobody is going to let you do the same, okay? You’ve got your team. You’ve got your _family_ and even if you’re not all right right now? We’re all going to help you. You have me.”

“I just want to _stop_, Tony,” he hates the way his voice breaks. Tony stands on his tip toes and kisses him then, full on the mouth and filled with promise.

“You don’t need my permission, but I’m telling you, you _can_. Do you hear me? You can stop, Steve, we’ll be with you the whole time.”

“Do you promise?” Steve says, sounding like the little runt who stood up to Bobby Westminster in the alley behind the butcher’s for bugging Lil’ Ricky.

“Of course, Steve. Together, isn’t that what you said?”

And yeah, maybe he won’t be going outside with the shield and the cowl for a while. Maybe he will decide not to carry the world on his shoulders anymore, but he will still have his team. Tony has proven that he’s loved him, even at his worst, and that he will continue to do so even when he falls. So, maybe, just _maybe_, he won’t be Captain America anymore but he might be able to find himself to _Steve Rogers_ sooner rather than later. 


	18. Surprise?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This isn’t a chapter but I have Some things I’d like to say, if that’s okay?

Hi guys,   
Dang, I don't Know if anyone’s still following this thing. Ummm, I have a few points I want To say. 

1) I want to say THANK YOU for all the comments on this. There are so many! I am Grateful for everyone who’s still subscribed/bookmarked/following. I’ll try to answer them soon! 

2) I uhhhh graduated? Waiting on my uni to send me my paperwork so that’s fun! 

3) I am no longer on Tumblr (if you ever followed me?) it got really toxic and it started affecting my anxiety; also, tiktok is getting the same way and I don't Like It which is probs why I’m finally finding my way back. (As long as the tags nonsense doesn’t get worse, I guess? Follow up, are my tags okay?) 

4) last point! And PROBABLY WHAT YOU WOULD WANT TO READ: I’m in the process of rereading the fic :) not sure if I’m going the “they lived happily ever after” route or diving into IW/Endgame. I do Know I want A happy ending; just not sure how long I’ll drag it out lol my opinions on some of these characters still remains the closely the same (ie Wanda and Clint and Scott Lang). I’ll probs look for a way to bring them into the fold, as it were, if I’m able to. 

Anyways! Thanks y'all for reading and sticking around for so long. Y’all make my heart really happy even when my brain starts being weird. I’m also gonna be revisiting some of the my other WIPs though I don't Want to promise anything. This will probably be deleted once the chapter posts 🥰

**Author's Note:**

> You know what I do when I don't like a fic/don't agree with someone's representation of a character? I stop reading and move on. I don't shit on other people's work. Don't be that asshole, yeah?  
[Also, ma Tumblr can be found here](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/fangirlingmanaged)


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